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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157691">Stitch Me Up</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_Wrexed/pseuds/Get_Wrexed'>Get_Wrexed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Medical, Bipolar Disorder, Bondage, Crowley Has an Anxiety Disorder (Good Omens), Daddy Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers for Gabe and Beelz, First Meetings, Found Family, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Intersex Beelzebub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Platonic Life Partners, Power Play, Praise Kink, Rating will change, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Subspace, Total Power Exchange, at least a lil, hospital drama, like eventually for both couples</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:48:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>222,222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157691</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_Wrexed/pseuds/Get_Wrexed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dr. Aziraphale Fell is newly appointed as the Chief of the A&amp;E (ER) at Celestial Harmonies Hospital in Lambeth, London. The crowd is a much different one than the patients that gathered at his previous place of work in the South Downs- and his coworkers are perhaps the oddest of all. Emergency physician Gabriel Winger seems to think Dr. Fell has robbed him of a position that was rightfully his. Beatrix Bealz, the trauma surgeon on call, doesn't look or act like a surgeon at all. And then there's that strange Head Nurse Crowley. So stand-offish with his coworkers. So sweet with the patients. A mystery, all together. Aziraphale can't help but want to solve that mystery- what physician can resist one?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub &amp; Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1146</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1079</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Good Omens Human AUs, Ineffable Humans AU, Top Aziraphale Recs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: mention of nosebleeed and heart attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Paperwork. That’s what brought Aziraphale to Celestial Harmonies Hospital the day before his official instatement as Chief Emergency Physician. Just a touch of hiring paperwork with the hospital’s administrator, Mrs. Godfrey. So he had to wonder why he was standing here. Now. In the Accident and Emergency (A&amp;E) Department, fussing with the sleeves of his white coat while waiting for the incoming heart attack patient to arrive in the bay. </p><p>He knew why in a literal sense; there were three ambulances arriving simultaneously and not enough physicians to attend to all three emergencies. No- his wondering was that of a much more existential sort. On his way through the department toward the ambulance bay, he’d been nearly tackled by a drug addict wearing nothing but a hospital gown, witnessed a man slapping his bedridden wife without a glimmer of shame, and seen two uncorrelated stab-wound patients. Goodbye to his quaint little hospital in the South Downs. Hello to the much more exciting medical gem of Lambeth, London. </p><p>Before the doctor could further question the events that had led him to accepting such an extreme change in daily occupation, a pair of EMTs were wheeling in a patient on a gurney and shouting vitals at him alongside other relevant information. Aziraphale shifted to action without thinking, processing all the words being thrown in his direction without needing to truly listen to them. His attention was locked on the man on the gurney- well, one of the two.</p><p>It wasn’t fixed on the patient currently experiencing cardiac arrest, but instead on the roughed-up figure above him performing chest compressions. Aziraphale was well aware of the time of night, but still found himself leaning to look at the darkness outside the archaic windows of the bay before back at the man clad in a leather jacket and skin-tight black jeans to confirm those were, in fact, sun-glasses perched on his face. </p><p>“C’mon you bloody bastard. Thought you promised to beat the gay out of me? What? No round two?” the stranger growled at the figure beneath him. </p><p>The patient jolted back to consciousness, instinctively punching the man straddling him right in his hooked nose. The dark blood that trickled from it created a stark contrast to the bright red shock off hair in a disarray upon his head. </p><p>“Get… fuck off… me y’fuckin’... fairy,” grunted the brute. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah, a fairy- a fairy godmother, bringing you back to fucking life,” grumbled his savior, climbing off the gurney and helping wheel it into the cath lab. He appeared quite comfortable doing so, Aziraphale noted, almost as if he owned the place. He even helped himself to aiding in the bed transfer on the doctor’s count.</p><p>“Sir, if you don’t mind, only medical professionals in here, I need to perform a cardiac catheterization,” Aziraphale turned his attention to the nurse already prepping the patient, not sparing a moment to ponder over the eye roll and muttering he got from their visitor, “and if you’d be so kind as to get some thrombolytic therapy in progress and then hurry a blood test right along Nurse-?”</p><p>“Anathema. Anathema Device,” the bespectacled nurse replied, her hair done up into a tidy bun. Her dark brown eyes flickered over to the redhead- not only still belligerently present, but in a curious turn of events already in the middle of obtaining and providing the proper IV pouch to the nurse, “Night out clubbing gone wrong?” </p><p>“As always. Written in the bloody stars,” he groaned, hardly pausing to wipe the blood from his face with the cuff of his jacket, “Doc, you’re going to want to get some CNS deactivators into this bloke’s system.” </p><p>“Sir I thought I asked you to remove yourself,” the doctor tutted, although his tone was laced much more strongly with concern than it was command, “The blood test will inform us if we need to do as much.</p><p>“‘Sir’- <em> ‘Sir’ </em>he says,” the redhead mocked, tilting his head back and forth and accenting his feelings about the term with rude expressions, “listen. The time it takes to run the blood test could prove fatal. I know that club, I know the woman he was gettin’ on with. He’s got enough cocaine in his system to wire up a bloody rhinoceros. He needs CNS deactivators and an intubation. Just trust me, alright?” </p><p>“He’s a liar, Doc! You! Ain’t I taught you to shut your mouth yet?” the patient growled through gritted teeth. He might have wrung the invader’s neck, were he standing closer to the gurney. </p><p>“Ain’t <em> you </em>figured out I’m trying to save your life? Hell’s bells, you addicts make it so damn difficult.” </p><p>Aziraphale looked over the roughed up, bespectacled, blood-covered man before him. He betrayed his hesitance with pursed lips and the concerned furrowing of his white-blonde eyebrows. Whatever the concealed eyes were doing, they must have caught onto his suspicion, as the redhead let out a slow sigh.</p><p>“Look, mate. Trust me, I know; it’s weird I’m trying to save someone who just beat the shit out of me. Call me a masochist- whatever you want, just- can’t I tempt you to take a leap of faith here?” </p><p>Blue eyes that had already been gentle despite a botched attempt at sternness somehow softened even more, and Aziraphale found himself nodding, letting his attention flicker back to Anathema as his skilled hands worked to perform the catheterization. She was looking up at him with a glimmer of hope in her own dark eyes, as if urging him to heed this strange man’s request. </p><p>“Very well, temptation accomplished. Nurse Anathema here will administer the drugs as soon as you leave the room to wait outside, as I believe I’ve requested twice already.” </p><p>“And the intubation?”</p><p>“Yes, yes. At the soonest sign of respiratory distress.” </p><p>If it wasn’t a trick of the light, a grin toyed on the blood-covered lips below those designer shades. The man took a step back, holding his hands in the air in a display of innocence before dramatically sighing, “Doctors. Think they’re in charge. Cute, that.” </p><p>Aziraphale watched him walk- no, that stride didn’t qualify as a ‘walk’ by any means- <em> swagger </em> out of the room. Just to make sure he truly left, he assured himself. Nothing to do with the sway of those hips. Not even a little. Not at all. When he glanced back at Anathema, she was looking down at the patient, pressing soothing circles into his shoulder. A small smirk played at her lips and when her eyes flickered back up to meet his, she gave a tiny shrug as if to indicate, ‘what can you do?’ Aziraphale turned his attention back downwards, noticing the patient staring up at him with a wild look of fear in his eyes. The doctor smiled- a small and quick and gentle thing- before continuing the procedure. </p><p>“You’ll be just tickety-boo, I assure you,” he promised, earning a surprised look from Anathema that disappeared the moment he looked up to find it. </p><p> </p><p>* * * * * </p><p> </p><p>“Pardon me, Nurse Anathema- do you know where that man went?” </p><p>Aziraphale stood attentively at the nurse’s station, worry etched into each line of his face as he looked on at the tan-skinned woman in question, sitting hunched over a keyboard in her dark green scrubs. She peered over her round tortoise-shell glasses at him only for a moment before returning her focus to the monitor. </p><p>“No need for the docurum, Dr. Fell. Anathema is fine. You’ll find we’re a bit colloquial if not overwhelmingly brusque in this ER- sorry- A&amp;E. What man?” </p><p>“The one who performed CPR on Mr. Winston. I tried to search the records for battery intakes within the past few hours, but there were no men. I was hoping to check on him; the way he was moving, I believe he may have suffered abdominal injury.” </p><p>“Oh,” she remarked with a curt laugh, fingers still clacking away at the noisy keyboard, “Redhead? Sunglasses? He left. And you should thank your lucky stars for it. If there’s a god, they’re looking out for you.” </p><p>“He left?” Aziraphale repeated, falling aghast at the suggestion, “And you let him? He could be seriously wounded- perhaps even have internal bleeding or organ damage!” </p><p>Another snicker.</p><p>“As if I could stop him. Stubborn bastard. Trust me, Dr. Fell. You do <em> not </em>want him as a patient. He’s smart enough to get it looked at if it’s anything life-threatening. You should be more concerned for yourself. First day tomorrow, no?”</p><p>“I think one might argue after recent occurences that my first day has been conveniently advanced an evening.” </p><p>Anathema paused her typing to smile, “I suppose you’re right. In any case, good work here today, Fell. I look forward to working with you.” </p><p>She stood with an abruptness, taking a chart off the high-top counter behind her desk and walking away. Brusque indeed- just like that, the conversation was over. Aziraphale decided not to argue, but made rounds to ensure all was in hand before finding his topcoat and ceding to depart for the day. </p><p>Really, a lot should have been on his mind: the patient he’d saved, the activity of this new A&amp;E, settling into his new apartment, how he might get along with his new coworkers, but as he waited for the bus (he wouldn’t be caught driving in the city- far too terrifying) all he could think about was that red-haired man. He seemed to know exactly what to do- and <em> what </em> an entrance. Who was he? What was he like? What did he do? An EMT, perhaps? </p><p>For the second time this night, Aziraphale was lost to wondering. </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p>Not thirty minutes into his first (official) shift, Aziraphale was already doubting his appointment in the A&amp;E hierarchy. He’d met the two physicians getting off shift as he came in, Dr. Uriel Alya and Dr. Victoria Michael. He thought they seemed quite uppity and tightly-wound. That was before he met the physician that would be sharing his schedule- Dr. Gabriel Winger. Dr. Winger looked straight out of a health magazine. He looked like lifted weights at the gym every evening and ran ten kilometers every morning. Ten minutes with him proved these assessments correct. He seemed like the kind of person who didn’t eat red meat, sugars, or carbs. Another ten minutes revealed that this was also correct. </p><p>Most of all, he had a delightfully bone-chilling way of using perfectly pleasant words and smiling all the time while also making Aziraphale feel like there was perhaps some unresolved resentment between them for the blonde taking a job the brunette felt entitled to. By the thirty minute mark, this hadn’t been stated as truth. Still, Aziraphale was somehow made quite sure of it, and dreaded every inevitable act and passive aggressive comment that would make the sentiment clearer. </p><p>“So, explain to me again how you were offered the Chief of A&amp;E position?” Gabriel asked with that incessant grin, though the way it didn’t reach his eyes and his nostrils flared made it appear something closer to a sneer. His accent was so aggressively American. Aziraphale might have thought to make friendly small talk and ask what brought him to England, were they not in the midst of decidedly <em> un </em>friendly chatter already.</p><p>“Happily! That is- erm, your administrator visited Royal Sussex County Hospital, my previous place of employment. She shadowed our A&amp;E there and a few days later she telephoned and offered me the position. If I do recall correctly, she might have mentioned something about wanting to spread the influence of my style.”</p><p>“Your style? What’s that?”</p><p>“Oh… er… she did mention… my bedside manner with the patients?”</p><p>Gabriel scoffed, not pausing to look up at any of his coworkers as they strided past the nurses’ station, “Ah yes. ‘Bedside manner’. Godfrey doesn’t get it. Doesn’t understand that we can’t practically do what we do while getting all cozy. Growing attached to patients makes us biased in our work.” </p><p>“Is that what you told yourself when that motorcyclist died of cerebral hemorrhage after you ignored my imploring that you pay closer attention to his symptoms?” hummed a tall, slender figure in dark red scrubs, facing away from them and filing charts at the top-counter of the nurse’s station.</p><p>“Please. One time you were right and you lord it over me,” Dr. Winger snarked with a scowl. </p><p>The man turned and threw a sharp grin at the forbidding physician, appearing entirely unaffected and unintimidated by his presence. “Only the once, I was right? You sure? I’ll tell you what, Dr. Winger, the one time I’m wrong, you can dangle it over my head like a cement brick, ready to drop at any time.” </p><p>His voice and face were instantly recognizable to Aziraphale. A striking blue and purple splatter stretched over the upper half of his nose and beneath his eyes, barely covered by a white bandage fixed over it. The disturbance appeared to be an outlier compared to the rest of what Aziraphale found to be a rather handsome face, sporting sharp features, a spattering of (quite endearing) freckles, and- good lord- was that a face tattoo in front of his ear? He’d met nurses with tattoos before, but certainly not any that had one smacked onto the side of their face for the world to see! </p><p>“You!” Aziraphale awkwardly blurted, only realizing how outlandish and accusatory the remark was after it was too late. Oh dear. This entire situation had caught him rather off guard. As soon as the nurse’s gaze turned to him, he was powerless to stop the rush of air that was squeezed from his lungs by some mighty, invisible force. This person already had developed a remarkable habit of smacking Dr. Fell’s marbles to the floor to lose themselves in every conceivable direction. </p><p>But in what way could he keep them in their bag when the most fierce golden eyes he’d ever seen in his life turned to capture him? It wasn’t just the color- but the symmetrical mutation that resided there in the pupils. These eyes were remarkable, unique, deeper than Aziraphale found he had the bravery to explore. </p><p>It seemed this nurse was not unfamiliar with reactions to his eyes, and mistook the doctor’s gasp in a way that made Aziraphale eager to throw out words of explanation. However, with his capacity to form and arrange words quite out of order, he sat with his awkward identification. The corner of the nurse’s mouth began to turn downward, but it appeared he had some form of mercy upon finding the embarrassed shame that had undoubtedly spread on the newcomer’s face. Instead, he grinned. </p><p>“That’s ‘Nurse You’, doc. Figured you were the fresh meat.”</p><p>“Ah, yes. Dr. Fell, this is Crowley, the nurses’ little cult leader. They practically kiss his feet. I’d imagine it makes everyone admitted here feel just the slightest bit sicker,” Dr. Winger introduced- now wearing what was <em> definitely </em>a sneer and meant to be identified as such.</p><p>“Translation- Head Nurse. This is <em> my </em> A&amp;E,” Crowley sneered. </p><p>“Translation- get used to being yelled at and publicly humiliated.” </p><p>“Aw, Winger. Don’t you know? You’re special. I’m not going to yell at Dr. Fell.” </p><p>Dr. Winger’s smile fell for just a moment before it returned as more of a grimace, “I think that makes <em> him </em>special, you yell at everyone. You’ve yelled at me every day for three years.” </p><p>“You don’t listen to me. People suffer or die. I yell. Few others don’t listen to me. People suffer or die. I yell. He listens to me. People don’t suffer or die. He keeps that up. I won’t yell. Amazing how that works, yeah?” </p><p>The redhead offered a theatrical return of Gabriel’s facetious grin, playfully swatting his arm with charts and heading off towards the other side of the department while yelling over his shoulder, “New Kid! Young! Step on it!” </p><p>Originally, Dr. Fell believed the nurse was speaking to him. Not moments later, a young man shot up from the nurse’s station, causing Aziraphale to jump nearly a foot in the air. There was no possible way he’d been there before. No one had been, surely. The boy had a young face and wide blue eyes, framed by a mop of messy brown curls. No doubt he was just a couple steps out of university doors. In an eagerness to obey Crowley, he’d spilled hot coffee down the front of his light blue scrubs, and was comically running after his superior on his tip-toes while airing out the stain and blotting at it with a napkin. </p><p>“Adam! Forget the bloody shirt! What did I say?” Crowley shouted. Aziraphale had to admit, it <em> was </em>scary, he felt a bit sorry for Adam. </p><p>“Coming!” the fresh-faced boy squeaked, pumping some pep into his step. </p><p>Aziraphale might have spent a good portion of his day wondering how someone so cold and intimidating became the head nurse, but there was a remarkably small window provided for doubt to come through. Within the first couple ambulance intakes, Crowley was lightening on his feet, provided what was needed before the request was fully spoken, and had a surprisingly remarkable bedside manner. With the terse direction of the young nurse following him, a lesson of indubitable value laced it. With each patient, his position became a little clearer. With the expediency of every minute task or IV change, the doubt was banished further and further into the nonsensical land from which it came. </p><p>“What’s your name?” he would ask every patient, every time, and then repeat it back with a strong, soothing reassurance of, “- you’re okay. It’s alright. We’ve got you.” </p><p>He was compromised, however. Aziraphale had a trained eye, he could spot the signs of physical trauma from the way he walked. Understanding quickly that Crowley would ignore requests that were too soft or polite or that might infringe on his reputation, Aziraphale attempted a more discrete approach. </p><p>“Nurse Crowley, would you mind joining me in bay three?” </p><p>“Sure thing,” the man responded quickly, he had the fastest reaction time of any nurse Aziraphale had ever worked with. Upon entering the bay, the blonde pulled the curtain closed around them, and golden eyes stared blankly at the bed, before gazing up at Aziraphale with a raised brow and a thick layer of incredulity, “Uh. Dr. Fell. If you need this to be pointed out for you, I’m concerned with your appointment here; there’s no patient in this bay.” </p><p>“Of course there is. Up on the table please, Nurse Crowley.” </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“You’ve been wincing every time you have to bend at the waist. I believe you’ve suffered some abdominal injuries.” </p><p>“Forget it. I’m fine.” </p><p>“You can say that, but I’m afraid if you refuse, I’m simply going to go to the administrator and she’ll insist you get evaluated, anyways.”</p><p>“Shit, you’re a narc, eh? Gonna tell on me to The Almighty herself?” </p><p>“What?” Aziraphale asked, feeling himself short-circuit. What did Mrs. Godfrey and the Lord have anything to do with one other?</p><p>“Never mind. Fine. Quick look. No longer than five minutes.” Crowley grunted, hopping onto the edge of the bed and pulling his shirt over his head. Aziraphale couldn’t help but sound a sharp, empathetic hiss at the exposure of the entire middle side of Crowley’s torso. It was black and blue with some swelling. The rest of his chest and stomach was long and lithe, but sinewy muscles hid beneath, no doubt from lifting patients. Aziraphale looked up at his patient’s face, and turned a deep scarlet at the knowing grin that was fixed there. Blue eyes reallocated their attention to the injury, and gloved hands were attentive in pulsating gently above the bruising, subconsciously noting Crowley’s reactions. The exam didn’t take long at all, well within Crowley’s five minute cap.</p><p>“We should get some imaging, I believe you have-”</p><p>“Fractures in my top two right vertebrochondral ribs, but no evidence of internal bleeding or organ damage. Yes. Lovely, that. No point making sure. As we both know, the treatment for broken ribs is,” Crowley did a mock drum-roll, rolling his tongue and intermittently smacking his fingers on the clipboard in Aziraphale’s hands, “Nothing! Thanks for wasting both our time, doc.”</p><p>He stood up, and Aziraphale gave a slightly overwhelmed glance up and down the pale torso only inches before his face before taking a step back. Blue eyes were averted to allow proper privacy while Crowley replaced his shirt. From this close, Aziraphale could gauge a slight difference in their heights, perhaps two or three inches. Then he geared his gaze to Crowley's face, watching it contort as he twisted at the waist and feeling his own heart ache in response. Aziraphale felt useless. He hated that. What was the point of being a doctor if he couldn’t help?</p><p>“That looks awfully painful. I could prescribe something to help?” </p><p>“Nah. They make me all loopy. I’d have to get off the floor and that is <em> not </em>happening,” Crowley huffed while ensuring his scrubs were in order. He opened the curtain, pausing to look back at the physician, “Your concern is wasted on me. Do me a favor, Fell. Keep your focus on people you can help. That’s your job. You do it, and I’ll do mine.” </p><p>Aziraphale stood there, a nonplussed expression on his features. He understood even less how someone as difficult as Crowley could climb the ranks so high, no matter how good with the patients. The answer found him quickly, upon Mrs. Wilson gracing the A&amp;E with her presence. </p><p>She was a rather old woman, 88 years old, and she appeared so docile there, carrying on with her knitting. It was no surprise she looked so worn and fatigued. A look at her chart informed him she was in the later stages of congestive heart failure, and had been admitted three times in the last two months for intermittent procedures . At her age, there was little they could do besides thoracenteses to ease her suffering. It was a waiting game, and she seemed to be reaching the end of the line. </p><p>Aziraphale discovered her appearance was all but an utter deception, and found her to be quite the firecracker upon his attempt to approach, swatting her hand back and forth in his direction and chanting, “Oh no, pet! Don’t concern yourself with me! Away with you! Away!” </p><p>“Mrs. Wilson!” a familiar voice called out, its cadence much more light and musical than Aziraphale had heard before. </p><p>Crowley made a dramatic slide into the bay on a rolling stool, throwing the woman a charming grin that the newcomer hadn’t imagined he was capable of. </p><p>“Nora, we <em> have </em>to stop meeting like this,” the redhead mused. </p><p>“Anthony, you cheeky little devil! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Nora giggled, immediately taking on the disposition of a giddy school girl who’d run into her crush.</p><p>“Hey now, that’s my line.”</p><p>“Oh, pishposh- I don’t even have my face on, and you know I always do. I’m ashamed to have you lookin’ at me!”</p><p>“You fibbin’? You’re stunning as ever. Hardly look a day over thirty five. All the other birds have to be wildly jealous.” Crowley grinned at the laugh that managed to come from his patient despite the pressure in her lungs. Aziraphale watched the exchange with soft eyes, feeling like he just might melt. “Besides. You worryin’ about a mug to look at- check what happened to mine!” </p><p>“Please, I always was weak for men who look like bad boys but hide a heart of gold beneath it.”</p><p>“Well, well! Who’s the cheeky little devil now?” </p><p>“Can you blame me for trying to squeeze one last date into my time left with the handsomest man I know?” </p><p>Crowley briefly looked up at Aziraphale, making eye contact before looking back down and giving a warm smile while patting Mrs. Wilson’s hand. It was bony and frail, skin stretched so thinly over it that it almost looked like wax paper. </p><p>“I’ll tell you what. You let our good doctor here do what he needs to do and I’ll escort you on a lovely tour of the hospital’s hideous concrete courtyard, take you up to the maternity ward and get you a bouquet of screaming babies. And look,” he pointed up to the IV, “methamphetamine martinis already at your disposal. Can’t beat that.” </p><p>Nora wheezed a laugh again, swatting at him, “Oh, sweet pet. You know I’m at the end here. What’s the point?” </p><p>Crowley’s smile fell the smallest bit into something more sad and sympathetic, and he squeezed her hand, nodding, “It’ll make you more comfortable.”</p><p>“I don’t think anything will achieve that, love.” </p><p>“If you won’t do it for you. Do it for me?” the nurse asked hopefully, flashing a debonair grin. Doctors diagnosed what treatment was needed. In Crowley’s opinion, his job was much harder. He had to convince the patient to follow through with it. </p><p>The old woman gave him a long look and released a shaking sigh accompanied by a wheezing noise. Her free hand raised from the bed, patting the nurse on a sharp cheek, “Alright, you tempter. I’ll do it.” </p><p>Crowley smiled, applying the local anesthetic for Aziraphale and helping to keep Nora calm and distracted during the procedure. He truly was good at his job, as while keeping her entertained he refrained from causing her to laugh or react in any way that would jostle her too much. </p><p>“You’re a good boy, Anthony. You remember that.” The redhead looked almost surprised as Nora informed him of this opinion through quiet groans of pain and discomfort. Aziraphale hadn’t realized the extent to which he was staring until Crowley looked up to meet his gaze and scowled. </p><p>“What?” he snapped. And all at once, Dr. Fell was sure that he understood why this mysterious nurse had such a cold, disdainful air about him. Working in an environment like this took its toll on everyone. It was sad. It was isolating. It was painful. Each employee handled it differently. Crowley kept people at arm’s length so they didn’t see how he was affected, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but see it. He saw someone lonely, who wanted to scream and cry. He saw the unfairness of it all in those golden eyes. </p><p>“Nothing,” the doctor shook his head, mercy had always been something that came easily to him. It resided inside his soul, housed with comfortable permanence alongside empathy and compassion, “Mrs. Wilson seems to be experiencing some discomfort. I believe we should increase the IV drip, how about you?”</p><p>Crowley’s eyebrows practically met his hairline and he gaped at the question. After a moment, he closed his mouth, remembering to slide into his business composure, and nodded a bit. Trained hands moved to adjust the speed of the drip, and Nora was soon relaxing, falling into a deep sleep before the procedure was even over. </p><p>Within the next couple hours, a flat-line sounded from Mrs. Wilson’s bed. Crowley sent the staff that came rushing forth to revive her away with a solemn, hushed, “No orders.” </p><p>Aziraphale was quick to come declare time of death, and when he pulled back at the curtain, he saw the oddest thing he’d seen of Nurse Anthony J. Crowley since his arrival- which was saying quite a bit. He’d seen him perform CPR while on a rolling gurney, get punched in the face by the same patient, refuse treatment or medication for an excruciating injury, and belittle physicians. This took the cake. </p><p>Before him was Mrs. Wilson, pale and stationary, the monitor already turned off. Above her, Crowley was perched, biting the inside of his cheek in focus as he applied makeup to the deceased woman’s slack face. </p><p>“Time of death, 13:06. What are you doing?” </p><p>“What does it look like?” the man snapped back, quick to jump on the defense. When he looked up at Aziraphale and found that the question hadn’t been sourced from any desire that he cease his actions, his expression softened, “She was a fabulous lady. Always wore her makeup. Thought I’d help her out before her kids arrive.”</p><p>If he wasn’t a doctor, Aziraphale might be quick to worry at the feeling of his heart doing somersaults. Instead, he worried for an entirely different reason. All at once, he felt an overwhelming fondness for this standoffish person. A desperation to know him, to discover the wild secrets hidden in the depths of his essence. </p><p>“You’re a very good nurse,” he said, soft blue eyes gazing over a scene so pure and light he was sure it was ingrained into his mind for all time, like a photograph.</p><p>“I’m not afraid to prove myself, Dr. Fell. You shouldn’t be afraid to do the same.” He paused, taking a moment to lean back and admire his handiwork. Mesmerizing eyes raised to survey Aziraphale, and he couldn’t help but feel it was the first time Crowley truly looked at him. He nearly fell over upon receiving a wink and a sly grin from this strange man. “I look forward to witnessing it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There's the first chapter!~ I hope you all liked it ^^</p><p>Forgive me if any of the terminology or procedural descriptions are incorrect- I did my best research! Also, my only exposure to medical drama has been American medical dramas, so you'll find that while the hospital is in England, the staffing structure is based on what I've seen!</p><p>Updates may be a bit over a week apart, as I'm still working on my Ineffable Husbands Hogwarts AU too!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Cultural context for fellow readers not indigenous to the UK: Upon the completion of med school, attendants are rewarded with the title of "Dr". When surgeons complete all the requirements of their field, it's customary for them to return to using "Miss", "Mr.", or "Mrs." to indicate their status as a specialist.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I think it’s lovely to have a proper southern gentleman around,” chirped the nurse sporting cheery pink scrubs. Happy little bunnies were patterned around the fabric of her top. A sheer blue scarf held her short orange curls out of her heavily made-up face.</p><p>“‘Southern’, don’t recall the LGBT community starting to use <em> that </em> moniker.”</p><p>Crowley returned Anathema’s grin, “I <em> think </em> what our darling Madame Tracy was trying to compliment was his nice-attentive-doctor act, but it can’t be real, can it? Have you <em> ever </em> met an A&amp;E physician that does- well- <em> that. </em>” </p><p>The gaggle of coworkers were completing their busywork while looking on at the scene of Dr. Fell, not 20 feet away in bay one. He’d been there for a half hour now, holding the hand and consoling a crying woman who spoke no English. Despite the language barrier, she seemed to be greatly comforted by talking to him, and he was more than happy to listen. </p><p>“If it’s just an act, he does a pretty damn good job of keeping it up. Never seen him slip. <em> You’ve </em>certainly been paying close enough attention to catch it if he did,” the latina teased, bumping Crowley’s hip with her own behind the counter of the nurse’s station and sending his gangly form briefly stumbling to the side. </p><p>“Well,” the redhead bristled, pausing to tug the edge of his deep red scrub top back into place before continuing to fill out the chart before him. “You know me. Like to keep the doctors in check before they spiral off into killing sprees.” </p><p>“Y-yeah, I don’t trust him either?” contributed a voice, more of a question than a statement. The three nurses turned to eye the shaggy-haired, blue-scrubbed individual that had spoken up. </p><p>“What are we talkin’ bout?” Crowley challenged.</p><p>“Er… ,” Young hesitated, “... a doctor?”</p><p>“Good intuition, Kid,” Anathema commended with a snort. </p><p>“It’s central London, dearie. Not much need for sheep here,” the sweet older nurse referred to as ‘Madame Tracey’ gently chided.</p><p>“Not so fast, Madame. Nothing wrong with teaching the kid to be suspicious of doctors. Good instincts, those.”</p><p>A wide, proud smile blossomed across Adam’s face as his greatly admired mentor praised his intuition. The small commendation seemed to have as much impact as if Crowley had rustled his wild brown curls and called him “sport”. Perhaps he’d only been on staff for a week, but that was plenty long enough to know this was a moment to scribble down in his journal and remember forever. </p><p>“Y-yeah! Dunno what’s up or down, them! No good, righ’?” </p><p>“Easy, Kid,” Crowley talked him down with a lopsided grin, “They’re like blasted tools. Do we need ‘em? Yeah. Still us doin’ all the work? Yeah.” </p><p>“Oh good, is there some kind of coffee break I didn’t know of?” an unwelcome voice suddenly intervened.</p><p>Each one of the four nurses stopped to give Dr. Winger a myriad of expressions ranging from bloodthirst to incredulity. All at once, overlapping voices erupted in exclamations of “Bugger off! Pretty sure I have three bloody requests you’ve yet to so much as sniff at!”, “Oh, good, so <em> you’re </em> the Chief of A&amp;E now? Didn’t get the memo!”, and “Oh, sweet pet. Are you <em> sure </em>you’re prepared to start keeping tabs on the nurse’s roster?” </p><p>Gabriel held his arms high over his head in surrender nearly the moment that the onslaught was initiated, adjusting his gait to slowly back away from the band of caregivers that, to him, much more likened a huddle of hungry harpies. </p><p>“Yeah! That’s right!” Adam piggybacked onto the defense, sure it was still in action. </p><p>Innocent blue eyes turned to find both the group of amused nurses and a very fearsome doctor staring him down. </p><p>“Uh… gadda change Mr. Hughes’ IV... “ </p><p>With the poor excuse, the youngest nurse scuttled off to the far end of the ward, and Dr. Winger went on to his own business, mumbling under his breath about ‘pain-in-the-ass nurses’. Crowley dropped his pen to bury his face in both hands. Both the women on either side of him started giggling. </p><p>“That <em> kid,” </em>he groaned, “Sure neither of you want to take up this whole ‘Head Nurse’ gig?” </p><p>Anathema snorted, adjusting her round tortoiseshell glasses and singing out an, “as if any of us are made of sturdy enough stuff- or crazy enough, for that matter,” before sliding across the station to her desk on one of the ancient, shamefully cheap rolling chairs that they were supplied with. Tracey found herself impressed it didn’t breakdown and send her tumbling to the floor half-way through the journey. Little miracles, she supposed. The most senior of the nurse’s staff rubbed soothing little circles into the dark fabric encasing Crowley’s lithe shoulders. </p><p>“Now, now, love. He’ll find his way. I do recall another nurse a bit big for his britches at the beginning. However, that confidence certainly did bring him to high places!” the motherly figure hummed in a sing-song voice. Crowley let his cheek fall to the high-top with a small grunt, giving the woman a glare that came across as something far more akin to a pout.</p><p>“Madame Tracy. You know I always appreciate your lovely pearls of wisdom, but somehow I find the premise of that dolt raising to take my job something less than comforting.” </p><p>The woman couldn’t help but raise her hand and giggle behind it, ever susceptible to Crowley’s charm and wit. While she had amounted a respectable number of years beneath her belt- both in age and in occupancy- she somehow always had the disposition of a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed school girl. Always cheery. Always comforting. Always hungry for any morsel of gossip available. </p><p>“Crowley,” sounded that unfortunately familiar voice yet again, likening nails grating on a chalkboard, to Crowley’s ears.</p><p>The summoned party raised his amber eyes to glare at the doctor he so loathed, though the exhaustion clear on his features made the gesture less threatening than intended.</p><p>“Thought I told you to go sign off on those fucking requests I asked for <em> hours </em>ago,” Crowley growled. </p><p>“Yes well,” Winger huffed while holding up a finger and tapping away at his mobile in that way that made Crowley’s anger come to a seething boil, “I need a surgical consult for the patient in bay four.”</p><p>“Any specific speciality or am I supposed to guess?” </p><p>“Trauma or general.” </p><p>“Right,” Crowley spat out flatly.</p><p>“And <em> do not </em>call down that blood sucking monster.”</p><p>The redhead sneered, tilting his head back and forth and mocking the doctor’s words in a nasaly voice as he walked away. How could he have graduated medical school with that thick a skull? Winger had long since resigned (with no shortage of disdain) to the fact that Crowley was an essential. Somehow, he found reason to pretend that the Head of Trauma, whose expertise was in General Surgery, was of no value to him. Crowley snatched the phone off the reciever, punching in the right digits to summon that very same surgeon.</p><p>“Calling on Dracula to spite him?” Tracy chirped, thirsty as ever for a bit of drama.</p><p>“Paging the Dark Master’s coffin as we speak,” Crowley hummed back, confirming that the page had sent before hanging up the phone, “Besides. <em> Someone </em>here ought to take poor little overworked me to get some lunch.” </p><p>The woman giggled, lightly bopping the tall man’s head with a chart before cheerily power walking off to attend to a patient, “Right you are, sweet darling.” </p><p>Crowley grinned affectionately before taking care to wipe the look right off his face, making his way to bay four. He drew the curtain behind him, smirking at the lad  who was laying in the bed and staring, starry-eyed, at the fluorescent lights overhead. </p><p>“Blimey, you really are blitzed, eh, mate?” he laughed, adjusting the back of the bed to a lower altitude and fluffing the pillows under the young man’s head. </p><p>“Ohhhh yeah,” drawled the brunette in a distinctly American accent, “This reefer? I’m in a good place, man.” </p><p>“Glad to hear it, always like keeping the edge off patients before procedures.” </p><p>“Awww, <em> thanks </em>Doc, you’re a… a real… like, a bro- ya know?” </p><p>“Not a doctor, Nathan. You met Dr. Winger already, do you recall? Oh- speak of the devil.” Crowley jerked his head in Winger’s direction as he slipped in, leaving the curtain haphazardly ajar. The nurse moved behind him to pointedly close it before returning to Nathan’s side and resting a grounding hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Crowley,” the doctor started, that menacing, empty smile firmly fixed in place, “I thought I asked for a surgical consult?”</p><p>“You did, Doctor. About thirty seconds ago. Should I have faked an emergency? Not that you’re not every bit important,” Crowley amended after turning to address Nathan, adjusting the pitifully thin sheets over him. </p><p>“Thanks, dude. You’re like- bruh.” </p><p>Evidently, the patient in question found his sentiment completed, and began to nod off backwards, his head hitting the pillow and mouth hanging open to sound a sudden snore. Gabriel moved to smack him in the arm with the charts. Much more accustomed to a lifestyle of constant vigilance, Crowley snatched them from his hand. </p><p>“The fuck’s wrong with you? Are you really that sodding heartless? This is the worst day of his life. You could at least pretend to be capable of empathy,” Crowley hissed at a low volume, baring his sharp teeth. </p><p>Gabriel, appearing unaffected, scoffed and rolled his eyes before proceeding to speak just as loudly as before. “You’re kidding me, right? The man is stoned.” </p><p>“Lucky bastard. Wish I was stoned.” The interjection caused Crowley to jump nearly a foot in the air before glaring down at the figure that stood on the other side of him. They would have been nearly a foot shorter if not for the curb-stomping, studded platform heels strapped to their feet. They wore a black leather pencil skirt matched with a color-blocked black armani blouse beneath their white fitted doctor’s coat. The silhouette gave the indication of curves that were not enough to fill out many women’s clothing but pronounced enough to indicate a feminine figure. Bird skulls hung down from each ear and nestled amongst their messy jet-black locks of hair. Their icey blue eyes sported dark black borders of makeup, although no amount of concealer could compensate for the dark shadows that existed beneath them. The surgeon appeared as if they belonged on the pages of an off-brand fashion magazine cover captioned with ugly yellow text spelling out “Punk Poses Professional”. </p><p>“Satan- <em> fuck </em>, Bea, do we need to get you a bloody bell? Scared the shite outta me!” Crowley whined. </p><p>The petite figure rolled their eyes, clasping their hand open and shut in a greedy, claw-like gesture at the nurse until a chart was placed within their practiced fingers. In the other hand, they held what must have been their second energy drink of the day by Crowley’s count. Dr. Bealz examined the chart as Gabriel immediately broke into complaint. </p><p>“What- you called the single surgeon that I specifically requested you didn’t?” </p><p>Eyes mysteriously something close to violet squinted at the small figure as if daggers would burst forth and impale them. Bealz gave a cheeky grin and wink in turn. </p><p>“Awww, Winger, scared you’ll fall madly in love if I stick around too long?” </p><p>Crowley wrinkled his nose in disgust at the comment, but couldn’t keep up his appearances of disdain too long as the dig immediately caused Winger to bristle. Absolutely no one pissed him off as quickly or effectively as Beatrix Bealz. It warmed Crowley’s freezing cold heart to watch the doctor he loathed so much squirm. </p><p>“Absolutely not!” Gabriel sounded so loudly that the patient jolted awake, eyes immediately training to the new visitor. </p><p>“Woah. Goth babe. Did you hop out of my dreams?” </p><p>“Mate, this twit wants me to dissect your colon. I believe that would make me your worst nightmare.”  </p><p>“Oh… yeah, dude, that sounds like… not great.” </p><p>“Don’t it?” Bealz empathized, raising their eyebrows in entertainment, “Which begs the question: why would you shove a lightbulb up there to begin with? No! No- let me guess- you thought it’d be funny if it popped out like your arse had a bright idea?” </p><p>“Ohhh, that’d be so good! But nah, it was a dare. My friends dropped me off here and like… bolted.” </p><p>Crowley masked the sharp bark of laughter he let out as a cough into his elbow. The more effeminate figure at his side did nothing to hide their manic grin. </p><p>“Right, well. Good news. Dr. Winger, as impossibly thick as he may seem- and I know, that’s quite a bit- is more than capable of retrieving the foreign object all on his own. Not sure why he called me here really, unless he’s afraid rummaging around in there might come across a bit gay.” </p><p>“I’m not- that’s not- I-!” Dr. Winger started, smug smile gone and a fire in his eyes. With each new beginning of a statement, he seemed to grow more angry and flustered. Dr. Bealz’ grin grew wider and more excited, as if they were feeding off his reaction. It seemed to be the most delicious feast in the world. “I am the physician! I get to decide what he needs! And what he needs is surgery!” </p><p>“Woahhh there, man,” chortled Nathan, nodding in and out as Crowley dabbed the sweat off his brow with a damp cloth, “‘Any man who must say ‘I am King’ is no true king’.” </p><p>Bea burst into delighted laughter at this, “Ohhh yeah, mate. This one’s a <em> real </em>Joffrey Baratheon. Reigns down just as much terror and misery.” </p><p>Gabriel seemed to grow even more discontented upon being assigned a reference he did not understand. </p><p>“<em> Hate </em> to tell you how to do your job Winger but- wait, no I don’t. I love it. Maneuver a medical balloon behind the bulb and inflate it; the pressure will press it out.” The surgeon wrinkled their nose as they grinned at Winger, shoving the charts against his chest and patting his arm before leaning up on their toes to mutter into his ear, “The next time you want to be degraded, you know I’m <em> more </em>than up to the task. No need to make up some unnecessary surgical consult.” </p><p>They let go, releasing him and swaggering away from the bay. Crowley meandered after them, rushing to grab their arm. It wasn’t too difficult a task, given the fact that he was wearing sneakers. He dragged them, shuffling after, towards the nurse’s station. No other staff seemed to bat an eye. The familiarity of the duo and the nonsense that came with it wasn’t so much ancient news as it was hospital lore. </p><p>“Oy, the fuck was that?” </p><p>“What?” they asked blankly. While committed to a composure indicative of giving absolutely no shits, one corner of their mouth pulled downwards. “Do you think I made the wrong call? Look, I know he’s a right twit, but I do think he’s capable of such a simple procedure.” </p><p>“No- I mean the flirting. You were <em> flirting. </em> With <em> Wanker. </em>” </p><p>At this, Bealz snorted, sharing the same devilish grin as before and raising their brows up and down in delight, “I know. Did you see how it made him <em> squirm?”  </em></p><p>Crowley didn’t manage to maintain his composure as his face cracked into an impressed grin.</p><p>“Yeah you know, he really does think you’re the Prince of Hell.” </p><p>Bealz positioned their index fingers behind their head to pose as horns, “Submit, you pathetic fool of a physician! Submit your sodding sou- wait- you don’t have one? The fuck am I here for?” They seamlessly transitioned to a display of indignant inconvenience, flapping their hands in the air.</p><p>Crowley couldn’t help but laugh out loud, covering his mouth with the back of a long hand. He managed to restore his standoffish demeanor as he observed Dr. Fell approaching. There were appearances to maintain, after all.</p><p>“Any luck finding someone for Mrs. Khatri?” the ever-warm man asked in his ever-patient voice. Always at it, Crowley observed. Even when patients weren’t watching. What exactly was he after? No one was that bloody nice without trying to get something out of it. </p><p>“Yep. Her daughter will be here before the hour’s out.” </p><p>“Oh, thank you, dear boy,” Aziraphale started, expression flooding with relief. His eyes pivoted to find Gabriel passing by, “Dr. Winger would you-”</p><p>“Ask someone else. The banshee. They know <em> everything </em>,” he snapped, a grimace clear on his features. </p><p>“Right, sorry,” the blonde doctor tutted, eyes trailing after the muscled retreating figure, “Oh dear, I don’t believe I’ve seen Dr. Winger in such a state.” </p><p>“That would be the work of yours truly,” Bealz lazily hummed, a cocky grin on their features, “I’m the bane of his existence. Not to, you know, <em> brag </em>or anything.” </p><p>Clearly they <em> did </em>mean to brag, and Crowley betrayed his amusement with a quiet snort as he observed the puzzled look on Dr. Fell’s face, as if he was trying to suss out why this person would be so proud of such a feat and how he was possibly meant to respond.</p><p>“Erm… yes, rather impressive,” the physician finally settled on before offering a warm smile, “I’m so terribly sorry for my rudeness, I don’t believe we’ve met.” </p><p>“Oh, right,” Crowley huffed. While it wasn’t technically his responsibility, the nurse took it upon himself to make sure everything in his A&amp;E ran smoothly. This was quite the oversight. “Bea. This is Dr. Fell, our new Chief of A&amp;E. Dr. Fell, this is Dr. Beatrix Bealz, our Head Trauma Surgeon. You really ought to have met by now.” </p><p>“Oh! Yes, I believe we were supposed to meet this morning. I must have missed you. So terribly sorry,” Aziraphale rushed to apologize. </p><p>Bealz arched a dark eyebrow beneath their haphazardly styled bangs, amused at this strange physician’s compulsion to apologize for… well, existing, it seemed. “Nah. That’s my bad. I was going to come, I just… didn’t… er… you know, mate, I honestly just didn’t feel like it. Woke up this morning and was like, ‘nah’.”</p><p>A few moments of silence passed between the trio. Aziraphale’s blue eyes ricocheted nervously between the surgeon and nurse, as if he was waiting for the latter to explode in his token anger. Instead, the redhead ceded a snicker. “Really, Bea, that’s your excuse? Couldn’t even be bothered to make one up?”</p><p>“Pfffbtt, what, I’ve suddenly stooped to lying?” they scoffed, as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. </p><p>And perhaps it was. In the decades that he had known them, Crowley had never heard a single lie spill from their mouth. Aziraphale couldn’t help but let out an endeared little laugh at the bickering, finding it safe to assume the pair were well acquainted. </p><p>“Well, in any case, I’m delighted to meet you now. Why keep the ‘Dr.’ title, if you don’t find me terribly intrusive for asking?” </p><p>Bealz paused, taking no precaution to preserve the social decorum of subtlety as they measured Aziraphale up. It was Crowley’s turn to look between his two coworkers, now. He appeared gobsmacked when Bealz gave a grin of approval. It would have been much more in character had they told him to sod off and mind his own bloody business.</p><p>“C’mon, mate. If you’re going to be ballsy, own it. I would change my title if it was as easy as ‘Miss’ or ‘Mr.’, unfortunately ‘Mx.’ hasn’t quite caught on and I like to spend as little time talking to patients as possible before knockin’ ‘em out, hackin’ ‘em open, and playin’ ‘go fish’ in their guts.” </p><p>Crowley raised his brows and gave a series of fast blinks at his friends’ vivid imagery before tilting his head in Dr. Fell’s direction and drawling, “You’ll excuse Dr. Bealz. They were raised by bloody wolves. Managed to wash off all the fleas and clean up properly, but they never did quite get the whole ‘human socialization’ bit down.”</p><p>“Well, they certainly seem to have quite enough confidence to cover for it. I’m sure at the very least their patients find some solace in that,” Aziraphale laughed with an amicable grin. His lack of any hesitance to adjust to the correct pronouns earned him a rare look of fondness from Bealz, who reached out and gave him a firm handshake. </p><p>“I look forward to working with you, Dr. Fell. I mean- in the future. Not in this moment. In this moment I was actually fancying some lunch. And I’m taking your Head Nurse hostage.” </p><p>“Oh- well, I’m afraid that we are a bit backed up… ” Dr. Fell started, worrying his hands together. His smile, while still very sincere, took on a bit of an anxious quality. </p><p>“Wasn’ a question, mate. Don’t worry, we’ll bring you back some cake.” </p><p>Both friends felt no shortage of amusement as the promise seemed to abolish any reluctance the physician harbored. </p><p>“Well I suppose if you don’t keep him too long... “ </p><p>“Ohhh, don’t you worry your pretty blonde head, I’m a gentleman. I know the rules: no drinking, no partying, back by curfew, hands in view,” Bealz teased, waving their hands in the air for emphasis, seeming to soothe their new acquaintance enough that he gave a smile of submission and carried on with his business.</p><p>After throwing their white coat haphazardly at Crowley’s head, the taller of the two made a greatly put-upon show of bringing it to his desk at the nurse’s station, grabbing his jacket as he did so. The pair made for the exit, only to be blocked from it at the last moment by one <em> impossibly </em>obnoxious Dr. Gabriel Winger. </p><p>“Aghhh, thought we got <em> rid </em>of you!” Beatrix groaned. </p><p>“Can’t get rid of me, Bealz. I practically own this place. And <em> you,” </em>he pointedly directed his smug, holier-than-thou expression to Crowley, a defiant look in his eye that was enough to make the nurse groan, “Didn’t teach your little protege to properly discharge patients. All the paperwork needs to be fixed and refiled.” </p><p>“Well, you’re welcome to start for me. Dr. Fell already said I can go,” Crowley scoffed, shoving some of his fingers into his trouser pockets and slouching into what appeared a horribly uncomfortable position while impatiently waiting for the physician to move. </p><p>“Well I’m saying now that you can’t.” </p><p>“Sure thing, Chief- oh, wait a second…oh- oh no...,” Crowley mused, clasping his hand over his heart in a show of being struck with remorse and sympathy.</p><p>Bealz gave a performative yet quiet gasp, diving all-too-enthusiastically into the role of playing along. They leaned forward, resting a consoling hand on Crowley’s shoulder.</p><p>“Oh- oh, look at that sad face. Awwww, poor wittle Gabwiel Winger! Didn’t get the big boy job! Somebody call the wahhhmbulance oo-hoooo,” the petite figure whimpered, rotating their fists against their cheeks in a gesture of mock crying. It quickly deteriorated into manic giggling as Gabriel stood before them, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking steady breaths with his eyes closed. A vein was appearing at his temple- the token indicator of his piqued frustration. </p><p>“You can’t- I don’t- how?” he tried before finally taking a deep breath and glaring daggers at the pair, “You are medical professionals. Don’t you have any pride? How can you justify acting so juvenile?”</p><p>“Oh, Winger. What’s pride worth? Sod all. Gettin’ you fussed? Priceless.” Bealz gave a devilish grin, their pleasure not at all diminished as they wormed their way around the figure easily double their size. </p><p>“Brilliant, that,” the redhead commented as they exited onto the street, wasting no time in retrieving his sunglasses from the pocket of his jacket and sliding them onto his face. </p><p>“Oh, yeah. Never fails to make my day,” Bealz hummed. </p><p>“How do you always manage to be on shift at the same times? I can’t imagine he hasn’t begged The Almighty to spare him.” </p><p>“Easy. I choose my shifts after he’s been put on the schedule.” </p><p>The taller figure beside them stopped in his tracks, agawk. It took Bealz a moment to notice, the loud collision of their heels hitting the concrete falling silent against the boisterous soundscape of the bustling city. They turned to face him, but didn’t close the gap, simply raising an amused brow. Bealz was the laziest person Crowley knew. They exerted the effort required to complete a task and not the slightest bit more. Hell, they wouldn't even invest the effort to take a few steps closer. So, it only followed that “a bit” was still far too uncharacteristic an effort to commit to in the name of a silly workplace rivalry.</p><p>“You change your schedule… to spend <em> more </em>time around a person you hate?” </p><p>Bealz raised both brows now, amused at the little tantrum their best friend was staging. They leaned forward to hear him over the loud sounds of cars rushing by and construction taking place on a nearby building.</p><p>“How else would I antagonize him?” they shouted back.</p><p>Crowley bristled, crossing his arms. He knew Bealz better than anybody else. They had met in a group home at fifteen. They’d roomed together throughout college and through Bealz’ med school and residency. Mere months after deciding it was best they finally live apart, the little devil had been introduced as Celestial Harmonies’ newest surgeon. Despite being arguably the most spontaneous human being known to man, Crowley was always able to predict their thoughts, feelings, and actions. To say that this admission had come from left field would be an understatement. </p><p>His friend seemed much more amused than he was, sporting a mischievous smirk before gliding seamlessly into a new bit. </p><p>“Oh, come on, baby, don’t be like that. Don’t you know you’re my one and only?” they schmoozed while swaying their shoulders back and forth, closing the gap at last and reaching to grasp either side of the front of his jacket. </p><p>“Euuuagh! Geroff me, you fucking gremlin!” Crowley exclaimed, pushing at their face. They wrestled for a moment on the pavement, a tangle of snorting and cussing limbs that passerbyers paid no attention to whatsoever, save for the occasional glare or gruff shout to get out of the way. Not long later, the two stood apart in wary stances, as if not trusting the either to keep away. The truce stood strong as they cautiously continued forth, righting their respective hair that had been messed in the tussle.</p><p>“He picks his shifts and bases them off yours, you big dolt. That’s why I match ‘em,” Bealz elaborated at last, a mixture of amusement and exasperation in their voice.</p><p>Had he not been keen on avoiding the situation they had just emerged from, Crowley would have stopped yet again. </p><p>“Why? He hates me?” </p><p>“Yeah. And he needs you. What? You think the business about you being the best nurse is all rubbish? You might put him through Hell, but he knows just as well as everyone else there that you’re not going to let shit fly. You have it under control. It makes people feel at ease.” </p><p>Crowley let out an unintelligible noise, some bizarre cocktail of a whine, a scoff, and what was surely meant to be the English language. These noises were fairly commonplace when coming from the tetchy nurse. “Bloody better, for all the stress I go through to manage it.” </p><p>“Well lucky you, you know what tomorrow is,” Bealz chirped with a smirk. </p><p>“Blimey. Sunday already?” </p><p>“<em> Stress-relief </em>Sunday! Bet your arse!” </p><p>Over a decade earlier, the seizures Bealz suffered as a result of their epilepsy were found to be triggered most often by surges in stress level. Somehow, being a trauma surgeon was not the most stress-free job in the world, rendering their risk of seizure to be unfavorably high. Chronic insomnia did little to aid in the matter. Their reaction to the news had been in line with that of pretty much any inconvenience they encountered- blast it and do whatever the fuck they wanted anyway. When, shockingly, this did not stop their inevitable return to hospital, their neurologist gave them an ultimatum: find an outlet or risk becoming too great a liability to keep their career. Thus, Stress-Relief Sundays were born, and with the exception of a sick day here or there, Crowley had been toted along for every single one. At the very least, any bucket list he could have formed grew significantly shorter over the years. </p><p>“Right, what’s on the agenda then? Are we throwing ourselves off of skyscrapers? Leaping over pits of starving lions? Please tell me we’re not going to one of those bloody oddities trades. I <em> told </em>you what happened last time,” he shuddered at the memory. Over half of Bealz’ collection of specimens and antiques made his stomach churn. The range of awkward to frankly bizarre people involved were another matter entirely. Bealz would fiercely defend the lot of it until their dying breath. </p><p>“Nah, that’s only on the last Sunday of the month! We are going, though. I have some new taxidermy pieces to sell. Oh! And there’s this brilliant bloke that does diaphonization and he’s bringing smalleyed rays to the next meeting. Said he’d trade. I’m not missing out again just ‘cause <em> you’re </em> a squeamish little pansy. Anyway, what do you think of axe-throwing for tomorrow?” </p><p>A considerable amount of bickering, pleading, and threats led them to an agreement on the matter. Another bout of it occured over the topic of lunch, and the pair found themselves at Bealz’ favorite pizzeria in Lambeth. Crowley loathed it. The food was absolutely doused in grease, narrowing his only options down to salads. Always a devoted lover of gross quantities of the unhealthiest foods, Bealz argued the layers of oil were what gave the food such great flavor. For the first part of the meal, effortless banter passed between them. Then Bealz started getting that look where their dark brows pinched together and their lips pursed just on one side. That look of <em>worry </em>that Crowley couldn’t help but groan upon spotting, bracing himself for the upcoming fussing. Bealz didn’t fret often, but when the inclination overcame them, they were rigorous. </p><p>“Don’t,” Bealz did their best to mimic the groan, “me! You barge in weekly to clean my apartment, prepare meals I don’t like, and yell at me about how miserable I am at handling my shit. I think you can tolerate a quarterly fucking check-in. Especially when you’re getting so obviously messy with your little ‘I’m fine! I can take care of myself!’ act.” </p><p>“It’s not an act. I am the nurse, after all. You’re always ranting about how you could never have the patience or temper to take care of others. You admit I’m a better fit for it.” </p><p>“You may be better at taking care of other people than I am at taking care of other people, but I’m better at taking care of you than you are at taking care of you or even probably than you are at taking care of other people.” </p><p>“....wot?”</p><p>“You’ve been bitchier at work lately, mate- which is saying something. Three of your coworkers have separately asked me if you’re alright, and you know how fucking much I hate people bothering me.” </p><p>“Yeah? Who?” Crowley jumped to question, a scowl fixed on his face. </p><p>“Doesn’t matter. I’ve noticed, too. You’re extra bitchy when you’re sad, and you’ve been <em> awfully </em>sad, so you can only imagine how bitchy you’ve been. It’s pitiful. Every time there’s a break in conversation you get that worried look on your face.”</p><p>Their friend stayed quiet, knowing full well he couldn’t stonewall the conversation at hand, but giving it a go anyway.</p><p>“Look. I don’t like talking about this whole ‘emotions’ rubbish any more than you do. So why don’t you spare us both and get it over with?” </p><p>“Bea, quit it,” the redhead sighed, draping himself back onto his chair in a position nearly anyone would get a severe cramp if they attempted to replicate. </p><p>“Are you-”</p><p>“Don’t.” </p><p>“getting-”</p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>“Are you getting depressed again?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>The surgeon was not at all intimidating in stature. They were a small, scrawny little thing. Their dark appearance, eccentric nature, and peculiar hobbies were enough to unnerve most, but after decades of friendship, any fears that Bealz had the capability of casting some sort of dark and supernatural force upon him had long since slipped away. Still, Crowley had learned to have a healthy fear of Bealz, if only because they were the one person in the world around who was capable of giving him relentless shit every day for the rest of his life- and they would. However stubborn he was, they outmatched him tenfold. The look they gave him now told him he would not be finding any solace until he spilled. </p><p>“I’m not. Really, I swear. It’s just- ‘s been fucked lately. Stressing me out,” he huffed, bringing his palm close to his face and folding his fingers to examine his nails with an invested interest. He didn’t need to look at Bealz face to know they wouldn’t be satisfied with just that. “Last month Dr. Owen told me it would be our last session. No warning. Gave me a list of other therapists, but how reassuring can those recommendations be from someone who strung me along for six years just to dump me in the dirt? Gave me a whole spiel on ‘beginnings and endings’ and ‘lots of important people will come and go in your life’. Rrrmgh. Rubbish.” </p><p>“Oof,” Bealz grunted as if punched in the stomach, baring their teeth and sharply taking a hissing inhale, “Dumped by your shrink. I’ve been there before. Awful, that. I’m sorry, Tony.” </p><p>“Yeah, and- dunno. Without the outlet, it all’s catching up to me. The stress and pressure and bullshit. Y’know. Everyone at work is always fucking hastling me for something. Then they dump this new kid on me as if saying, ‘you needed a punching bag, yeah?’. But that just makes me feel like an arse, because he- eeaugh- he doesn’t <em> deserve </em>it. Doesn’t fuck up any more than anyone else did at the beginning. Probably makes even less mistakes than I did. Just wants to figure it out, and I’m supposed to help him. But I’m tired of helping- shite, you hear that? ‘Tired of helping.’ Makes me the worst nurse in the world, eh?” </p><p>“Oy, don’t do that,” Bealz chided and delivered a light kick to his shin beneath the table- their own method of showing affection, “You’ll be alright. Maybe this Fell feller will help. He seems eager to please.” </p><p>“Hmmm.” Crowley responded, boredly pushing around the remaining walnuts of his salad with the prongs of his fork. </p><p>“You don’t think so, ‘dear boy’?” </p><p>“He calls everyone ‘dear’. From the South Downs or sommat.”</p><p>A bit of mischief danced on the surgeon’s lips, “Coulda been a trick of the light, but for a moment I thought you might fancy him.” </p><p>“What are you on about?” Crowley drawled out with an incredulous sneer.</p><p>“I know your type.” </p><p>“What? Alive, adult, and single? I don’t have a type, you know that.” </p><p>“Please, even <em> you’re </em> not that easy, but fine, let’s say ‘standards’. You have those, eh?” </p><p>“I guess. Everyone does. Doesn’t mean anything.” </p><p>“So you’re honestly telling me you’re not attracted to him?” </p><p>Crowley took a moment to ponder on the man in question. He thought about his kind blue eyes. About his sunny disposition that lit up the A&amp;E more than the soul-sucking fluorescent overheads could ever hope to. He thought about his gentle face and his pointed nose. About the dimples on his cheeks and little crinkles beside his eyes that appeared when he smiled. <em> That smile- </em>so bright and genuine, betraying an earnestness so pure it could surely chase away any pain. He thought about his perfectly manicured fingers. About the tone in his voice so gentle it tugged at Crowley’s heartstrings. He thought about the thickness of his silhouette. About how good it might feel to rest his weary bones against those warm, soft curves. Then he remembered where he was, and cleared his throat, pointedly avoiding any glance in his friend’s direction.</p><p>“Might be. But just because I’d shag someone doesn’t mean I fancy them,” he huffed belligerently, rushing to cover the heat suddenly rushing to his face, “He’s too nice. I can’t for the life of me figure it out.” </p><p>“What’s to figure out?” </p><p>“Ever since he got here he’s been acting like he has something to prove. Today, for example, he spent nearly an hour trying to comfort a patient who didn’t even speak English. It’s suspicious.”</p><p>His familiar friend raised a brow at him, resting their cheek lazily on their palm.  “What’s suspicious about being caring?” </p><p>Times like this, Crowley felt like one of Bealz’ patients. They delivered clean, strategic little cuts to access him and sifted around inside with such caution and care. Rooted out the problem with the expertise that only a trained professional could have. It was only minimally invasive, leaving scars so small they didn’t need stitches. Meanwhile, Crowley was under the soothing anaesthesia of the only consistent presence he’d known in is life. He couldn’t help but let them look. Couldn’t help but let them find what they were looking for. He might not have known what that was, but he trusted that they did.</p><p>“I just mean- it’s- what’s he gettin’ at? What’s his angle? No one’s nice for nothing.” Admitting the cruel reality of the matter was as real and raw as it had been when Crowley first saw it. Especially for those in positions of power, there was always a reason. Always a price. And it was always Hell to pay. He wanted to catch it before it was demanded. No one was getting hurt. Not him or anyone else. Not this time. </p><p>“What, so only you can be nice without some kind of ulterior motive?” </p><p>“I am <em> not nice,” </em>Crowley leaned forward as he hissed out the words through gritted teeth, slamming his hands down on the table in front of him. Nearby patrons lept in their seats, daring to look before a glare from the heated man had their heads snapping downward towards their respective plates. Bealz didn’t do so much as blink. Instead, they supplied him with an exasperated smirk. </p><p>“You’re a nurse, mate. You calm down nutters that want to kill you all day while thanklessly cleaning up their blood, piss, and shit.” </p><p>“Yeah, and I’m paid for it.” </p><p>“And what a lavish lifestyle you live with your enormously generous salary, yeah?” </p><p>“Don’t be a wanker.” Crowley growled, sniffing and crossing his arms before turning to look at the park across the street. There was a playground there, a gaggle of children were playing upon it. A little girl fell from the climbing frame, erupting into tears as she pulled her knee to her chest. The redhead sat up a little straighter in his seat, hands resting to curl on the edges of the patio chair’s wrought-iron armrests . He nearly stood, but soon the small child was scooped into the safety of her mothers’ arms and brought to a nearby bench. His grip loosened, and he slouched down the slightest bit. There was that ache again in the hollow part of his chest. </p><p>Bealz, ignorant of the scene, sounded an amazed, silent laugh through their nose, as if indicating they might be defeated by Crowley’s stubbornness, but their smile faltered into something softer. Icey blue eyes looked down at the table cloth, then back up at Crowley. They hiked up their loose sleeves to sinch further up their forearms, and crossed them over the table. There was a light breeze drifting through the open patio. The smell that came with it was as rancid as any other part of this area, but it felt nice. </p><p>“Look, Tony. I know we’re both a little fucked up,” they ceded a grin at the doubtful glance thrown their way, “-okay, a lot fucked up, and we both carry some shit around for it. That’s okay, but I’m just sayin’- there’s good and bad in this world, right? The way I figure, throughout our lives you and I have seen the lion’s share of the bad. We’re used to mistrustin’ and suspectin’ and fightin’ against everything, but maybe this isn’t like that. Maybe this is something good. I’m not sayin’ you have to haphazardly give him all your trust right away, just- don’t shut him off from the chance at earnin’ it. Something to think about, yeah? Never hurts to have friends in high places. Could be good.”</p><p>“Yeah…,” Crowley started, absently reaching to stir his iced tea, nearly completely melted by now, with his straw. A few of the other children that had been on the roundabout now were leaned down to gather flowers. They raised to usher one another over to the girl with excited whispers and extended the plucked plants to her, cheery smiles on their faces. She dried her tears, surprised at first, and upon the sight of the bright blossoms smiled as if her knee hadn’t been bloodied at all. </p><p>“Could be good.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Introducing Dr. Beatrix Bealz, Trauma Surgeon Extraordinaire and Certified Teeny-Tiny Gremlin Terror.  Poor Gabe never stood a chance. Probably 80% of his irritation is justified. </p><p>Sorry for the long wait! As I'm sure is the case with many other writers, quarantine is slowly draining my soul. (Hot take: writers block is homophobic) While my goal is for updates to be closer together than a whole month in between chapters, they will still be irregular, as my priority will me my GOmens HP AU until I can get that finished and give this one all the love and attention I think it deserves! </p><p>If you'd like to ask any questions or yell at me about the story (or about anything else really), you drop a comment here or find me at<br/>Twitter: @get_wrexed<br/>Tumblr: getwrexed</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: brief blood mention</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>6:47</p><p>After the already-dull morning light had strained through the bulking grey clouds, city smog, shuttering tree leaves, and sheer white curtains, it patterned itself out on the tartan bedspread in a manner so unenthused that Aziraphale wondered why it had bothered to make the journey to begin with. He reflected, with a long sigh against the fabric of his pillow, that perhaps he was projecting his reluctance to make his own trek this morning. Still, weary blue eyes carried on in their unpromising staring contest with the alarm clock’s leisurely ticking arms. </p><p>Were he back in Brighton he would be readying himself for his weekly coffee and chat with the ladies in radiology. Dr. Butala would order in lunch for everybody in the A&amp;E. His book club would meet at his favorite little bistro after work, and he’d get those little cakes that they only made on Tuesdays. He did so miss those cakes.</p><p>But he wasn’t in Brighton. He was in London. He had been for a bit over a month now. If ritual had any say in it, he would eat breakfast alone, go to work, and maybe have some cafeteria soup on a bench in the park across the street for lunch. Then, after work, he’d come home to an empty flat. He’d eat dinner alone. Read alone. Go to sleep and wait for the cycle to begin anew tomorrow. </p><p>Two minutes before seven o’clock, Aziraphale surrendered to the reality that gazing blearily at his clock wouldn’t stop it from ringing any more than it would stop the day from coming. He picked up the ancient thing and rewinded it to forgo today’s mind-rattling ringing. </p><p>The doctor managed to catch the Tube earlier than usual. Perhaps such proactiveness warranted the reward of a breakfast slightly more appetizing than one that could be found at the hospital. He hopped off two stops early. Madame Tracy (he’d yet to discover the origin of the nickname but had found it was a cemented one) had enthusiastically given him a recommendation for a little hole-in-the-wall cafe, describing their breakfast sandwiches as ‘divine’. Surely, she had proved herself the most warm and inviting presence he’d encountered since his arrival at his new workplace. After a couple of weeks, he’d even worked up the bravery to suggest they might venture to the aforementioned cafe together. Upon the receipt of an overly-intricate and apologetic excuse, he resigned himself to the understanding that there would be no such gatherings for the foreseeable future. </p><p>Aziraphale hadn’t predicted that he’d have any difficulty making new friends in his new city. It had never posed as a challenge for him before. With so kind and amenable a personality and so wide a range of interests, he’d always thought it possible to befriend almost anyone. Little time had been provided to seek companionship outside the hospital, but every endeavor to seek as much within his new place of work had resulted in little encouragement and much embarrassment.</p><p>It required a great deal of persistence to find the cafe in an area with shop fronts crammed in so close together. Aziraphale was surprised he managed it. The only indication of its presence on the narrow side street was a door sporting fading pink print outlined in yellow, squeezed between a tattoo parlor that did not look all too reputable and a small pub that wouldn’t open until much later in the day. The interior was even more cramped than the street outside, although the light yellow walls gave it the (misleading) impression of offering elbow-room. It featured artwork strategically positioned to cover disconcerting proof of the building’s crumbling structure, but the woman behind the counter had an infectiously cheerful disposition that made the cafe feel like the safest place in the world. Aziraphale’s heart hurt a bit less after the kind interaction that passed upon placing his order.</p><p>He asked for his sandwich and tea to go, hoping to find a grassy area to sit and enjoy it- a tall order in the surrounding area. Instead, he found a small skate park and a fixture that did a good enough job at imitating the shape of a bench for him to sit and watch the proactive youth get out their excess energy before school. His breakfast looked every bit as exquisite as Madame Tracy had promised him. Eager fingers carefully unwrapped it, his stomach sounding a demanding grumble. The sandwich was lifted into his grasp. Blue eyes sparkled as he admired it in its untouched state-- something that always gave him a touch of joy before indulging. Just as he raised it to his mouth, he found himself taking in a gut wrenching sight in place of a delicious bite of ham, cheese, egg, and bread.</p><p>A young teenage girl lacking any type of headgear skateboarded at a high speed towards the park’s rail. She leapt into the air with grace, but botched her attempt to adjust the board horizontally in preparation for a smooth landing. Instead, the board was caught on a diagonal, and she was sent spilling out onto the concrete. The sandwich and tea were no sooner abandoned and forgotten on the bench than Aziraphale was rushing towards her motionless figure. A deep red pool slowly crept outward from where her head lay.</p><p>An urgently placed call, the mindful administering of first aid, and several minutes later, the doctor emerged from the back of an ambulance and stepped into the emergency bay of his place of work. He was quick to work assisting the paramedic, an earnest lad named Newton Pulsifer, and his even more fresh-faced ECA, Warlock Dowling, in pulling the gurney out of the automobile and wheeling the young lady through the automatic doors. </p><p>“Faster than an uber, ay, Dr. Fell?” Newton anxiously laughed, as if this situation truly needed conversation to avoid any potential awkward silences. </p><p>“More exciting morning than the rest of this lot, I’d bet,” Warlock added.</p><p>“I’ve learned that’s never a fair assumption to make in our current setting, dear boy- Crowley!” Aziraphale called out. </p><p>Moments later, the tall redhead was at their side, directing them into exam room 2. </p><p>“Head trauma?” he asked. Trained amber eyes examined the patient around the thick layer of gauze pressed to her forehead. </p><p>“You got it. Heart rate is 80 BPM, regular and strong. Blood pressure’s 136/80. Respiratory rate is fifteen per minute, normal and unlabored. O-sats 97%.” </p><p>“Unconscious for twenty minutes now,” Aziraphale added, “Poor dear was skateboarding without a helmet and took a terrible tumble. Transfer to bed on my count: one, two, three.” </p><p>“Seems a bit like a self-fulfilling prophecy, doesn’t it? Sad…,” Newt lamented with a sigh after the patient was safely on the bed. An annoyed freckled face instinctively snapped upward, no doubt to scare the living daylights out of him. To everyone’s surprise, he only made it to a scowl before he stopped short, opting for a measuring breath, instead.</p><p>“Alright, you know what? Device is at the nurse’s station and was just complaining that the coffee machine’s bust. Why don’t you go do something about that?” Crowley fussed with a glare in Pulsifer’s direction. It seemed no further incentive was needed as the spritely young man wasted no time in making his exit. The nurse gave a pointed look to the ECA lagging behind while the doctor examined the patient. </p><p>“.... what?” Dowling sniffed. The kid couldn’t appear less fussed as he gazed up from his invested pastime of kicking at the floor to find a red brow raised at him.</p><p>“Eaaagh. Go find something <em> better </em> to do. Distract nurses, see how many tongue depressors you can snap in one go, flirt with poor unsuspecting mothers in pediatrics, steal some of the good gloves from obstetrics just…y’know,” Crowley raised his wrist in the air and flapped his hand in circles at Warlock, “Away with ye, mild inconvenience.” </p><p>With an amused grin, Warlock rolled his eyes and lazily turned on his heel to make his own exit. Aziraphale didn’t pause his assessment, but was pleasantly surprised to find the A&amp;E’s resident spitfire in such a mild mood- perhaps he’d even dare to go so far as to describe it as ‘good’. The last few weeks, Crowley’s spirits appeared to be deteriorating just as much as his own. It was obvious in the way that his fiery front had grown steadily more explosive day by day. Still, Aziraphale saw the soft man he hid beneath it slowly drowning in the unforgiving depths of an unknown turmoil. </p><p>“Sorry to ask, but may I see your pen light? Haven’t had a moment to gather myself, I’m afraid.” </p><p>Crowley sniffed, slipping a long, slender bit of metal out of his pocket and extending it to Aziraphale. “No rest for the weary, yeah?”</p><p>“No, I don’t suppose there is. Thank you, dear boy,” he spared the briefest moment to say, raising his head to offer a warm smile in exchange for the light. He struggled not to look as stunned and perplexed as he felt upon finding those warm honey-filled pools appraising him with the same concern and gentleness as when they were directed at a patient. Had the man ever looked at him that way before? No. Certainly not. He would remember that incredible warmth the gaze incited. He would remember the way it caused his heart to suddenly hammer defiantly in his chest. </p><p>Aziraphale sounded the soft clearing of his throat and turned to gently lift the patient’s eyelid beneath the overarching gauze. “Pupils are sluggish to respond- good morning, Crowley?” </p><p>“More like a helluva night. Stopped by Royal Vauxhall and saw some old friends.” The nurse retrieved a patient possessions bag as he spoke, airing it open and setting it to the side. A black school bag covered in rainbow stars was lifted onto the crash cart, and Crowley shuffled through it, looking for anything of prevalence amongst the girl’s belongings. </p><p>“Ah, I’ve heard quite a few tall tales about that place.” </p><p>“All true. I can attest,” Crowley grinned, “Don’t tell me you’ve never been? You’ve been in London a month now, no excuses!” </p><p>Aziraphale’s smile fell a bit, but he cleared his throat again, chiding himself and restoring his composure. It was hardly good conversation to lament over the fact that he had no friends to accompany him on such outtings, and he had scarce an interest in playing along with the expectations that would be developed upon him showing up, a single gay man by himself, to a gay club. In the midst of the omissions, he found himself with a rather weak argument, “I suppose that’s more of a younger man’s venue.” </p><p>Crowley snorted, shaking his head while examining the labels of a few loose medication bottles retrieved from the backpack’s front-most pockets. “C’mon, you can’t be much older than I am.” </p><p>The blonde opened his mouth to argue that forty-four was certainly old enough to be excused from escapades to noisy night clubs. Before he could relay the sentiment, Crowley stuck his head out the door and barked for Adam. The young man appeared as quickly as a dog summoned by its owner, bringing his earnest blue eyes with him. “Phone’s unlocked. Scroll through and look for ‘home’ or ‘mum’.” </p><p>“Alrigh’, what should I tell ‘em?” </p><p>“Tell them they’ve won an all-expense-paid trip to Costa Rica- the fuck do you think?”</p><p>“Right,” Adam mumbled, giving Crowley a sheepish little grin which turned grateful when his mentor snorted and shook his head in turn. The redhead returned just in time to notice the patient sound a sharp inhale. It was shortly followed by a slow, agonized groan.</p><p>“Alright. Rise and shine, eh? What’s your name, kid?” </p><p>“Uuuurgh, my<em> fucking </em>head,” she retorted, raising her hands to touch the injury (one of humanity’s more curious reflexes, Aziraphale pondered), instead they were caught gently in Crowley’s.</p><p>“Interesting name, that. What is it? Hungarian?” </p><p>He earned a short laugh before she winced and curled her fingers, accessorized with chipped black nail polish, around his. “Autumn.” </p><p>“Right, Autumn. You’ve hit your head, but you’re alright. You’re at Celestial Harmonies Hospital. My name is Anthony and this is Dr. Fell. We’re going to take care of you.” </p><p>“Lovely. Great start to the day, cracking my bloody head open.” </p><p>“No worries there, dear girl,” Dr. Fell soothed, “Rest assured your skull is all in one piece.”</p><p>“Where am I?” </p><p>“You’re at Celestial Harmonies Hospital, Autumn,” Crowley repeated with the utmost patience.</p><p>“Can you tell me what day of the week it is?” Aziraphale questioned.</p><p>“Tuesday.”</p><p>“Excellent, and the date?” </p><p>“Uhhh, May 19, 2020, I know ‘cause- aghhh, bullocks! I have a presentation today! Where am I?” </p><p>“Celestial Harmonies Hospital, dear. You’re alright. I can’t imagine a better excuse to miss class. Can you tell me who the prime minister is?”</p><p>“Boris Johnson. Am I going to be okay?” the girl asked. The youthful features of her face began to contort in a way that threatened oncoming tears. </p><p>“You’ll be just fine, I simply have to ask a few questions to test your cognitive functioning.”</p><p>“Here’s a good one- is there a God and if so why would she cancel Torchwood?” Crowley rushed to intervene. Aziraphale gave him a curious look.</p><p>Autumn snorted, “Is that part of it?” </p><p>“No, but these things have a way of making you ask yourself the big questions. Thought I’d start you off.” </p><p>The girl began laughing through her sobs, and Crowley smiled, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. </p><p>“Who are you?” </p><p>“I’m your nurse, Anthony. This is Dr. Fell,” he repeated yet again.</p><p>“Is he a good doctor?” </p><p>“Our best.” The answer was accompanied by such unwavering confidence that Aziraphale couldn’t help but gape at Crowley, his heart executing mysterious flips. </p><p>“Incoming GSW! We need you Dr. Fell!” Madame Tracy called from the doorway. Blue eyes rushed to amber, and Crowley gave a reassuring nod. </p><p>“I’ll be right back with you, Autumn. Crowley, I’m so sorry to be a bother, but if you would be so kind as to order imaging, change out that pressure dressing, and finish conducting the preliminary interview?” </p><p>“Roger that, Dr. Fell.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The morning was a whirlwind of new frustrations. While Aziraphale was being tossed in one hundred different directions, he found the nursing staff was more determined than ever today to add more than a few detours to his journey. </p><p>Over the last month as Chief of A&amp;E, nurses had taken to ignoring him, defying orders, and sneaking behind his back to consult other physicians on his cases with increasing frequency. Naturally, this resulted in an amassing frustration, but he was hardly the type of leader to punish or demean. He certainly wouldn’t lord his medical degree over their heads like a certain Dr. Winger. No. His employees deserved respect. If they didn’t like him, that must have been due to his own shortcomings. Whatever his feelings, or theirs, there was work to do and people to tend to. For however hard he’d been trying, he had a duty to try even harder to earn the approval of his staff.</p><p>Still, his shortcomings had never involved vanishing patients. </p><p>“Anathema, dear, I’m sorry for bothering you when you’re so saddled down with paperwork, but do you know what’s happened to Mr. Miller?” </p><p>“Oh,” Anathema voiced, a caught expression betraying itself on her face. She was quick to return the gaze of her deep brown eyes to the stack of forms before her, but before she did, Aziraphale saw unmistakable guilt shining within their dark depths. “Um. Dr. Winger discharged him.” </p><p>“Discharged… I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Mr. Miller was my patient. Why would Dr. Winger have discharged him?” </p><p>“He… uh… thought it was fibromyalgia, wrote him a prescription, and sent him home.” </p><p>Aziraphale blinked, worrying his hands in front of his waist. Soft lips pursed and an already overactive mind raced as he tried to grasp the misunderstanding. It seemed Anathema was pointedly excluding information. While he loathed to come across as rude, a sense of obligation gnawed at him to dig deeper. </p><p>“Alright, I can understand that. However, he was presenting signs of MS. I was very eager to perform a spinal tap to test the theory. If I’m not mistaken, we discussed this?” he asked. </p><p>A moment of silence passed. Anathema looked up at a noise that sounded across the ward as if she was hoping it was an approaching coworker. She found no such luck.</p><p>“I… it’s just that you didn’t seem sure. I don’t… I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but if you’re not sure, how can I feel sound about making a patient go through painful and unnecessary procedures?” </p><p>Aziraphale opened his mouth and shut it again. A lump was forming in his throat, and his chest suddenly felt as if it was trapped beneath a fifty pound weight. </p><p>“I was sure, my dear.” The voice that was summoned sounded almost as small as he felt. </p><p>“We wouldn’t know that, sometimes,” the nurse explained in a low voice. Her eyes were directed at him again, but his were fixed on the floor. Every breath felt shaking and unsteady. </p><p>“Right,” he said, although his mind hadn’t reached a decision on what to make of this at all. He didn’t know what she meant. He couldn’t imagine. He only knew that she was speaking on behalf of the entire nursing staff. </p><p>Oxford medical school. Second in his class. Residency at the best private hospital in the country. Fourteen years of practicing. One of the most impressive lists of professional recommendations of any physician in the UK. And still, he didn’t seem sure. </p><p>“Right,” it was something closer to a whisper this time, “sorry.” </p><p>The next few hours felt like a haze. More than once, he’d felt the inclination to go to his office and have a good cry. More than once, he’d been pulled towards yet another patient that his nurses apparently believed he was a danger to. </p><p>It wasn’t until he was filling in his portion of charts at the high-top of the nurse’s station that he realized what the heartbreak of every single day of the last month was peaking to. Why was he here? Why had he really thought he could come somewhere new and make any kind of difference? What would possess a whole new group of people to accept someone like him for who he was? Tears built at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall. </p><p>Starting fresh, free of expectation. That had been what inspired him to make this move. He had some fairytale fantasy of having the room to discover who he could be in a new place, uninhibited by opinionated voices of countless others, and to be that person- proudly. What did the way things had turned out possibly indicate? That in the end, he would never be able to spread his wings? And if he did, it wouldn’t be deserving of any amount of pride?</p><p>“Heard you convinced The Almighty to stop skimping on sheets. It’ll be nice to see the patients not freezing to death. I mean, y’know, might die of other things. But not that. Well done, you.”</p><p>Aziraphale was surprised at how close the voice was. Blue eyes raised to find a familiar redhead sitting at the desk in front of him. He could have sworn he wasn’t sitting there when he’d started this process. No, the nurse had long since staked his claim on the desk across the way. He was sitting here for a reason, and his eyes were burning the doctor with the same warm look he’d delivered earlier that day. Perhaps he wanted something. Clearly the nurses had assessed him to be the insecure pushover he was. </p><p>“The Almighty?” He took the bait. </p><p>“Oh. Godfrey. Little joke I came up with that stuck. Seems like it, doesn’t it? Omniscient, that one. Spooky.” </p><p>“Right, that’s very clever,” Aziraphale sounded with a forced smile, though his mind was somewhere far away. Somewhere more dark and desolate. It was distant enough that he’d considered the interaction complete and the nurse to have rushed off to cater to other business. </p><p>“By the way, looked it up after our heated argument with Winger: ducks <em> absolutely </em>have ears. The hell was he thinking? They must. How else would they hear other ducks?” Crowley inquired with a cheeky grin, the glimmer of his amber eyes dancing with the scantest trace of hope.</p><p>“Yes, quite.” The blonde didn’t spare so much as a glance.</p><p>“Stay tuned for the next riveting topic of duck-related debate: ‘Do quacks echo?’” he pressed on, dramatically gazing into the distance and spanning his hand through the air to lay out the imaginary title text. </p><p>Aziraphale gave the indication of acknowledging Crowley by tilting his head upwards and sporting a pitiful attempt at a smile, but his watery blue eyes remained fixed on the paper. </p><p>A few moments of silence passed before a slender hand snatched the charts from below Aziraphale. He looked up to find that same expression traced into that handsome freckled face, though this time it was guarded by a weak attempt to convey annoyance. </p><p>“Alright. Out with it.” </p><p>“I’m not sure what it is that you’re requesting, dear boy,” Aziraphale finally admitted. As tired as he felt, the doctor was still making some kind of attempt at a warm smile. No reason the nurse should be treated any differently just because Aziraphale was feeling emotionally downtrodden. </p><p>Crowley huffed and leaned back in his chair, which sounded a loud creak. Much to Aziraphale’s amusement, the redhead seemed to be struggling to maintain his tough facade. “Look. I thought I was over the whole ‘sunshine-and-rainbows-and infuriatingly-obstinate-cheerfulness-despite-working-in-the-world’s-most-depressing-shithole’ act, but <em> this? </em>This is unbearable.” </p><p>Aziraphale flushed, taking off his reading glasses and pocketing them now that his materials had been taken from him. He was at a loss for words. He’d worked very hard to maintain his cheery disposition. Even so, the nurse proved to be able to read straight through it. </p><p>“C’monnnnnn. When you first got here you were skipping around like someone told you barbershop quartets and turn of the century fashion were back in style. Now you’re like… a dog whose family abandoned you chained to a signpost in the middle of nowhere during a thunderstorm. ‘S too bloody sad. So like I said; out with it. What happened? Was Winger a wanker? I can page Dr. Bealz, just say the word.” </p><p>At last, the physician understood. That look he was giving him was <em> concern. </em> How much of a mess must he be? Out of everyone, it was Crowley that had made it the most painfully clear that he wasn’t the least bit interested in fraternizing. But here he was, looking at him like he was about to fall to pieces. And blast it all, he <em> was. </em>The same thoughts as earlier grasped him, and his eyes filled up yet again. It had always been that way for him. All it took was a well placed ‘what’s wrong’ for him to descend into tears, burst open, and send his emotions spilling out like marbles. </p><p>“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, dear boy,” he attempted, although his voice was weak and wavering, threatening to break at any moment. But Crowley didn’t look away. Those unique eyes were more soft and open than ever. No wonder patients trusted him so easily. “I just… I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake, taking this position.” </p><p>A corner of Crowley’s mouth pulled downward. As Adam came into the Nurse’s station and took his seat across the way, Aziraphale turned his head, wiping his eyes before the tears there could fall. Crying on the floor. Pathetic. </p><p>Anthony minded a quick glance over his shoulder before pressing on. “What makes you figure?”</p><p>“I don’t… um…,” he started, folding his hands on the countertop, “I don’t believe the staff are keen on having me here.” </p><p>Crowley’s face twisted in a few different expressions. Confusion, then scrutiny, then exasperation. </p><p>“Oh for fuck’s sa- give me your coat and stethoscope.”</p><p>The slightly taller figure abruptly stood and reached out a demanding hand. Aziraphale gazed at him, dumbstruck by the tone shift. </p><p>“Go on, then,” he repeated, swinging his arm out yet again for emphasis. No room was left for argument. Although wrapped in a thick blanket of confusion, Aziraphale had discovered by now that it was best to play along when the belligerent nurse started throwing out orders. He obliged, peeling off his white coat and stethoscope and holding them out to be snatched from his hand. Crowley went to his desk drawer and retrieved his jacket, shoving the doctor’s belongings into the storage and kicking it shut. He returned to the blonde and grabbed him by the elbow, dragging him towards the exit. Aziraphale allowed himself to be towed along, perplexion stamped onto his face. </p><p>“Adam, Dr. Fell’s taking me to lunch. You’re in charge.” </p><p>“Really?” the younger male gasped, stars in his eyes.</p><p>“Don’t fuck it up,” Crowley warned. </p><p>“Can I yell at Winger?”</p><p>“You can try.”</p><p>“How do you always get doctors to take you to lunch?” Anathema mumbled as they passed her, a bit put out. </p><p>Crowley didn’t release the broader man’s arm until they were out on the pavement. His hands jammed into his red scrub trouser pockets, and he transitioned seamlessly into a saunter, conveying a clear sense of where their destination lay. </p><p>“I’m taking you to lunch?” Aziraphale asked, finding the information to be news to him as he hurried after this impossibly mysterious man.</p><p>“Yes. I have a reputation to upkeep. Can’t be distributing pep talks to physicians out of the kindness of my heart, so you’re buying me lunch for my time.”</p><p>Crowley retrieved his sunglasses from his jacket pocket. Aziraphale curbed his disappointment when those stunning eyes that conveyed every bit of emotion so transparently were blocked from view.</p><p>“Awfully kind of you, anyhow.” </p><p>Crowley scoffed and then made a series of affronted gargles and grunting noises before spitting out, “It is <em> not. </em>Not doing it for you. Looking out for my A&amp;E. Things fall out of their natural order and the whole bloody ward suffers for it. Winger’s a wanker. The security guard Shadwell is a paranoid loon. I- with as much charisma and roguish charm that all the patients love- am a hardass. The Almighty plays us all as cards in her Great Plan that we, of course, are not privy to. It was a nightmare before you came ‘round.  Constant butting heads and power struggles. Then you’re all, y’know, happy-go-lucky you. Made a nice balance. Now it’s all mucked up.”</p><p>An affectionate little smile crept upon the doctor’s mouth. How silly, this man. So eager to convince everyone around him that his intentions were anything other than what they obviously were. So kind and selfless and so determined that no one identify him as either. Crowley spared a glance over at Aziraphale upon noticing the silence and when finding a sappy, fond look on his face voiced a dramatic groan and scowled. The doctor noted he was looking quite flushed.</p><p>“How ever did you know I had my wallet on me?”</p><p>“Trained eye.” </p><p>Aziraphale decided after a bit of deliberation that perhaps it was better not to know what that meant. A while later, the pair had found themselves at a Thai restaurant Aziraphale never would have found on his own. Despite the reason for their outing, it was clear that Crowley was making a deliberate attempt not to be too friendly. His arms were crossed, his expression aloof, and his gaze anywhere but the man across from him. His glasses remained firmly on his face, causing Aziraphale to wonder. Had he truly suffered so much harassment about his pupil mutation that he was afraid to show his eyes in public at all? The thought of it made the doctor’s heart ache in the most troublesome way.</p><p>It came as a bit of a surprise that conversation was <em> easy </em>with Crowley. Outside of the hospital his emotional front seemed to be much weaker. The redhead seemed to be aware of this as well, as any time he would start naturally making Aziraphale laugh too much or catch himself smiling too fondly, the numerous layers of security he had built up at work would come crashing back down into place. He would turn his face away to peer out the window again, and the blonde would be left urging himself to stop marveling at how good lord, the slightly hooked angle of his nose and the lines that made up his profile were really something breathtaking.</p><p>The arrival of their food spared Aziraphale from the embarrassment of being caught staring, and he had to restrain himself from bursting into tears all over again. Having missed breakfast made his emotions even more difficult to manage than they already were. The khao soi he’d ordered proved more than capable of comforting his aching stomach. It was absolutely transcendent. He couldn’t be positive the kitchen staff weren’t heaven-sent. As always, he was oblivious to the noises of shameless pleasure that poured out of him when indulging in good cuisine. It wasn’t until he realized Crowley had bothered to remain looking at him, an unreadable expression on his face, that he flushed and considered that he might dial it down. </p><p>“Sorry,” he mumbled bashfully after dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. </p><p>“What for?” Crowley asked, arching a brow, “Looks like your spirits are lifting already.” </p><p>Aziraphale gave a smile so genuine and grateful that it made the nurse squirm. He sensed an extra couple defenses falling into place between them for good measure. </p><p>“So you’re having an existential crisis because the staff are dicks? Being liked is really that important to you?” </p><p>If he wasn’t mistaken, the physician heard a heavy undertone of judgement in the question. </p><p>“Oh- no. Rather, it is nice to be liked, but I’ve survived plenty of years without any allies. It’s more… it was brought to my attention today that the staff don’t believe I’m competent.” Again, the sensation of feeling <em> small </em>overcame Aziraphale. In comparison, the rest of it felt like it might crush him. </p><p>Crowley rested his chin on his palm. “So?” </p><p>The blonde couldn’t help but be a bit affronted by the brusque question. <em> “So </em>I can hardly be a good Chief of A&amp;E if all my staff don’t trust or respect me.” </p><p>“Both trust and respect are earned.” </p><p>Aziraphale bristled, taking a sip of his thai coffee. While it was nice to finally have someone to talk to, he couldn’t help but feel Crowley’s part in the conversation conveyed the intention of something closer to conflict than comfort. “How am I supposed to earn either if they’re under the impression that I’m a poor physician?” </p><p>“Do you think you’re a poor physician?” </p><p>That had been unexpected. The blonde pondered over the question. “No. I don’t. In fact I believe I’m quite a good one, but clearly if that’s not come across then there’s something else I should be doing differently. Perhaps I don’t need to be liked. I can stomach that. However, I’ve never been content knowing I’m a disappointment.” </p><p>Crowley bit his cheek in thought, taking a long, appraising look at the man across from him. Aziraphale wished those glasses weren’t there. That he might assess the emotions in those telling amber eyes and surmise what conclusion the redhead was coming to. The nurse bowed his head, digging into his curry for a while before finally speaking again, not bothering to finish chewing first. </p><p>“Can I ask you, -,” a beat passed where Crowley racked his brain for Dr. Fell’s first name before giving up and pointing his chopsticks at him. The blonde nearly informed him that this was very impolite but ultimately decided against it after noting the nurse’s apparent disinterest in etiquette. “What’s the ‘A’ stand for, anyway?”</p><p>“Aziraphale.”</p><p>“Right, Azira,” he repeated, clearly misunderstanding him as having said ‘Azira Fell’. </p><p>Aziraphale opened his mouth to correct him, but not wishing to be rude, shut it again.</p><p>“Azira, why’d you come here?” </p><p>Blue eyes widened in surprise, and the blonde adjusted to sit further back in his chair with a stiff posture, taking his hands away from the plate and folding them in his lap. The shift in body language didn’t escape Crowley’s notice, and he set down his own chopsticks but remained slouched over the table, tipping his head.</p><p>“Sore subject? That’s fine. Just figure you wouldn’t be questioning your place here if things were going according to plan.” </p><p>After taking several seconds to attempt to assess Crowley’s intentions, Aziraphale figured that he was right; trust was earned. If he didn’t trust the head nurse, perhaps his most valuable potential ally, how could he ask any of his underlings to trust him in turn? </p><p>“My entire career, I’ve been told by countless mentors and peers that I could never make it as a doctor if I insisted on being polite and kind- that emotions were a weakness. When I was offered this job <em> because </em> I never lost sight of myself, it felt… well, I daresay it felt like an omen. I was eager to go to a place where I was wanted and valued <em> because </em>of my methodology. But perhaps I should have listened to them. I shouldn’t have tried to change the scenery. I should have changed myself.”</p><p>“Wh- eh. Where the hell did you get all these ‘should’s? Who’s filling your head with ‘em?” the nurse interrogated, not a beat missed. He draped himself across the back of his chair.</p><p>“Oh- I don’t… I’m not sure... I suppose... ,“ Aziraphale floundered. Crowley raised his brows in amusement, watching the blonde’s eyes flicker about, his lips purse, and his brow furrow more and more the deeper he sank into his self conflict.</p><p>“Let me tell you something,” the nurse demanded while spinning his finger in the air, finally finding the mercy to save the doctor from himself, “Not one sodding soul in that hospital gives a flying fuck if you don’t like how they do things. They’re going to do what works. So stop projecting your insecurity into the idea that you somehow need to live up to everyone else’s expectations. You’ll drive yourself barkin’ mad with ‘should’s. Fuck, you’ll ‘should’ all over yourself.” </p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t help but cede a laugh at that. The beginnings of a hesitant smile spread on his face, and some sort of warm ache began to take root in his chest. </p><p>“But… I don’t understand how that will help this situation with the nurses.” </p><p>Despite the glasses blocking the full view, Aziraphale could not have missed the look of incredulity etched on Crowley’s face. </p><p>“Mate. Do you have any idea how many times a day you apologize? For no reason other than these expectations no one but /you/ is torturing yourself with? ‘I’m so sorry, might I inconvenience you to order imaging tests?’ ‘Do you think administering a mild dose of morphine would be beneficial? So sorry.’ ‘I do apologize, but if you could find the time to assist me on this suprapubic catheterization…’,” Crowley mimicked, ashamed at how terrible his southern accent was. He’d have to practice that. “How much confidence do you think that much pointless apology conveys?” </p><p>“Oh!” Aziraphale responded, shaken to his core by the realization. Truly, he’d never realized he apologized that much. Perhaps Crowley’s bluntness was a bit jarring, but laid out for him so clearly, it was impossible not to understand why the nurses were rebelling. And there was undeniable truth there- perhaps Aziraphale had been so used to fulfilling expectations for survival, he’d settled into a constant state of believing he wasn’t enough. Perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t know who he was or that others didn’t accept him. Perhaps it was that he’d always taken those expectations as an excuse not to accept himself. </p><p>He released a sharp sigh of relief, “I was… well, I was worried they didn’t take me seriously because I have a different method than most other physicians.”</p><p>“Nah. Works for you, doesn’t it? I get shit done by being tough. You get it done by being nice. Nothing wrong with that, but Azira, you’ve <em> got </em> to stop apologizing for it. Be as sickeningly sweet as you want, but show some bloody confidence. Don’t just <em> give in </em>. I mean-,” Crowley huffed and crossed his arms again, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerable topic, “Got used to you, somehow. As obnoxious and frankly suspicious as I find the whole relentless-altruism deal, I would take it any day over the narcissistic, douche-canoe physicians I’m used to. So don’t abandon us with Winger. That’d be a bloody nightmare.”  </p><p>This got a more genuine smile, and a moment later, Crowley was pointedly looking out the window with a mysterious pink hue to his face. Aziraphale fully smiled, then. This person was truly such an enigma. So closed off on the surface. So wide open just beneath it. Never before had the blond had such a difficult time gauging how someone felt about him. Still…</p><p>“Sorry to- oh dear, that will take some getting used to. What I meant to say was, you were the only person to never doubt me.” </p><p>Crowley lifted ankle over the opposite knee and endeavored to shove another bite of curry into his mouth, doing his damnedest to appear disinterested.</p><p>“I'm not that dull. I know you know what you’re doing. Do yourself a favor and get it through everyone else’s skulls, too.” </p><p>“Right,” Aziraphale said softly, circling his cup of coffee in his hands, “thank you, truly.”</p><p>“Nggggh! Don’t <em> thank </em>me,” Crowley whined, nose wrinkling to convey his discomfort, “Like I said, you bought me lunch. I was motivated purely by selfish intent.” </p><p>His defiance was greeted with a knowing, affectionate smile.</p><p>“Whatever you say, dear boy.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Davis, it appears that you’re suffering from Staphylococcal-encited myocarditis. In other words, a nasty little rascal of a staph infection is inflaming your heart muscle, causing inefficient blood circulation,” Aziraphale explained to the patient, catching the look of anxiety that flashed across the older man’s face, “Never you fear, this is quite treatable. It will all be hunky-dory in no time.” </p><p>“You made the right call, coming in to see us,” Anathema added. She fixed the patient with a warm smile and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder in hopes that it might provide him some comfort. The smile was countered with a much more anxious one. </p><p>“I’m going to have Anathema here start you up on some antibiotics to fight the infection, and we’ll find a bed for you up in ICU so they might oversee your recovery. Before that, we’re going to perform a procedure to get your blood circulating properly. Does that sound alright with you?”</p><p>“Will… will it hurt?” the man hesitated. </p><p>“Not at all, my good man. We’ll apply some local anaesthetic, and Nurse Device will be right here if you’re needing a hand to hold. The sooner we can get you in a room, the sooner you can see those lovely grandchildren of yours again, yes?” </p><p>The prospect of seeing familiar faces seemed to soothe the man. He nodded with a hopeful gaze in the doctor’s direction. </p><p>“Anathema, please prep the patient for an IABP.” </p><p>The woman shifted anxiously, throwing the patient a reassuring smile before rounding the bed to stand closer to the doctor so she might protest in a hushed voice, “Doctor, I’m not sure-”</p><p>“And I am. It was an order, dear girl, not a question. I’d appreciate it ever so much if you’d be so kind as to carry it out. I’m sure we’d both quite fancy to get Mr. Davis right as rain and on his merry way,” he announced confidently, giving the patient a warm smile and then turning to serve Anathema with an expectant look. </p><p>Surprise was obvious amongst her features. Soon after the initial shock, she slowly closed her mouth, ceding an impressed little grin and nodding her head, “Of course, Dr. Fell. I’m on it.” </p><p>As she walked towards the supply closet, Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel a rush of hope fill his lungs on his next inhale. A poor attempt at suppressing his unbridled happiness was made as his gaze swept across the A&amp;E. His A&amp;E. The scan ended when gentle blue eyes landed on the slender, red-clad form in bay two, currently putting on a show of being absolutely affronted as the teenage patient before him proved herself a thumb-war champion for the third consecutive time. She was beside herself laughing, in much better spirits than this morning and sporting a clean line of stitches across the upper-right portion of her forehead. </p><p>Aziraphale abandoned the endeavor to reign in his joy, eyes squinting and a massive smile blooming across his face. He was done apologizing for being an emotional person. Perhaps there was no need anymore. Perhaps everything was going to turn out alright after all. Perhaps his stretch of loneliness had come to an end at long last.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Annnnnd I lied. The inspiration is really flowing for this fic right now, so you get a quick update for this chapter ahaha.</p><p>I'm so excited for this next chapter! These gays are fixin to get it so bad (okay maybe Crowley already has it bad, but he's CLEARLY in denial)</p><p>Feel free to throw any questions or thoughts at me ^^<br/>Twitter: @get_wrexed<br/>Tumblr: getwrexed</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Self harm scars, bug mention (beetle), blood mention (Bealz paints a gross picture), past suicide attempt mention, misgendering mention, panic attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay, fine. You won’t disclose your family medical history to me. Do you have any allergies, Mr. Gibson?”</p><p>“I am <em> nae </em>tellin’ you anything! Great big fairy playin’ doctor! Ye shan’ trick me!” </p><p>“I can assure you I’m a registered nurse,” Crowley sighed for about the fifteenth time, armored with the kind of patience that only those who don’t have the luxury of losing it can maintain.</p><p>“Exactly! So ge’ a blasted doctor over ‘ere!” </p><p>“As you know, Mr. Gibson, there was a bridge collapse. Our doctors are prioritizing cases based on fatality risk.” </p><p>Crowley should know. As the most unshakable of all the nurses, he’d been working said cases for the first three hours of his shift. However, after a sleepless night of the police surrounding his building due to some kind of hostage situation two floors up, the nervous breakdown that had been hot on his heels was slowly winding him into its grasp like a snake around its prey. A certain kind doctor with dreamy blue eyes had noticed, somehow, in that uncomfortable way he always did. A moment later, Crowley was asked to find himself a replacement and busy himself with admission interviews. </p><p>He didn’t need to be fucking coddled. The fiery redhead had been Head Nurse of this A&amp;E for eight years, he could manage the occasional hectic day. No restraint had been practiced when reminding Dr. Fell of this. </p><p>And then- <em> then </em> the strangest cocktail of compassion and command lit up those all-seeing orbs, and a thin smile Crowley had never seen before crossed that face- a shocking, mighty strike of lightning amidst an ocean of calm. It had been a request, he assured Crowley, but if he insisted on making it difficult, it could become an order.</p><p>That <em> bastard.  </em></p><p>It had been two weeks since the pair had their little lunch. Afterwards, Dr. Fell had gotten on as Chief famously. He had himself a tidy little pool of admirers and advocates. The staff consensus was now that his presence was a calming, steadying one and that if it could be helped, he was never to leave. No spinning heads when Dr. Fell was around. He had it all under control, and beneath it all, it was still Crowley’s A&amp;E. The newcomer had been sure to respect that. He’d honored the nurse’s requests, valued his opinions, and made sure that on the basis of major changes, he and Crowley were on a united front. </p><p>Then he went and pulled <em> this. </em> The fuck was Crowley thinking teaching a <em> physician </em> to <em> pull rank? </em>What had possibly possessed him? His mind kept running over it. Kept replaying the way that Anathema had been so sheepish to push her way in front of him and take his place. Kept thinking about how he tried to narrow his eyes at Fell in the way that made nearly any soul on earth question every single one of their tiniest life choices. Kept seething at the way the unshaken physician had so politely said, ‘thank you, dear boy,’ and shamelessly stared him down until the long-limbed man finally scoffed and sauntered away. </p><p>“The high Hell ye mean, ‘fatality risk’?,” Mr. Gibson boomed, rolling his ‘r’ in outrage. Crowley was mildly reminded of one of his first foster parents and was equally unaffected now as he had been then. “I’ve go’ a bloody hunk o’ metal sitckin’ out me leg!” </p><p>“So I had noticed,” Crowley droned thinly. “Must be very painful. The sooner you give me your information, the sooner I can make you comfortable for a doctor and the sooner you won’t have to see another glimpse of my ‘great big fairy’ face.” </p><p>“Awa’ an bile yer held, ye spawn of Satan with those eyes! Ye think ye kin tempt me with yer wiles?” </p><p>The nurse lidded the aforementioned mutated pupils and took a long, steadying breath. Blasted ‘devil’s eyes’ nonsense. It didn’t hurt as much as it used to, but it was equally irritating. He opened his eyes again. </p><p>“Can you at least tell me: do you know if you have any opioid allergies?” </p><p>“I will nae be drugged by some skinny malinky longlegs! A doctor! Get me a fookin’ doctor!”</p><p>Crowley’s attention shifted to the teen boy shaking in pain a couple beds over. His arm had been compound fractured and he had yet to be attended to. Surely, <em> he </em> wouldn’t snap at an offer of comfort, but there was that blasted policy of order to things. Crowley was bound to this patient until he retracted the necessary information. To be fair, he remembered, he’d raise Hell too were he in Mr. Gibson’s position.</p><p>Another thirty minutes of attempting to coax anything useful out of the belligerent man resulted in nothing but the further fraying at Crowley’s nerves. He couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to unravel this far. At least, not here. Not at the hospital. In his personal life, he accepted he was a disaster, but here, he was always calm, always steady, always in control. Today, he felt more like he was going to combust in an explosion of tears, steam, and shrapnel if someone so much as nudged.  </p><p>He tried not to sigh too obviously as Dr. Fell calmly entered the bay with his head looking especially connected to his shoulders by Crowley’s observation. He tried not to be too aware of the way his heart slowed when Aziraphale brought that smile that said ‘everything is and will be okay’ with him. </p><p>“Mr. Gibson, this is your physician, Dr. Fell. Would you like to tell him why I have absolutely no stats, blood tests, or any useful information whatsoever on you?” Crowley gently chided, sounding much like a teacher coaxing a student to recount their bad behavior to a parent. </p><p>“He tried to drug me, the wee devil!” </p><p>“Didnae!” Crowley scoffed, losing his composure just long enough to feel naked as the day he was born under Dr. Fell’s gaze. He took a steadying breath, noting that as he regained himself, Aziraphale’s face smoothed over with empathetic pride. As if he felt the effort it took. As if he saw how lost he was feeling. As if he knew Crowley well enough to be proud of him at all. The nerve.</p><p>Crowley ignored it, finding it best to avoid that gaze altogether and focus on gently swatting the patient’s hand away from picking at the thin metal beam impaling his upper thigh. “Mr. Gibson has decided he will only confide any information with a physician. He does not seem keen on the general concept of nurses.” </p><p>“Right,” Aziraphale said in a very diplomatic fashion that served to both reassure the man his concerns were valid and empathize with Crowley on what a difficult position he’d been put in. He took the charts from Crowley and palmed the space over his breast pocket. The suggestion of a frown toyed at the corner of his lips. </p><p>“Behind your ear, Doctor,” Crowley patiently reminded. </p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale had the manners to feign a bashful expression upon finding the pen he was searching for, as promised, behind his right ear, “Thank you, my dear. I might lose my head if you weren’t here to remind me where I put it.” </p><p>Nice. Too much nice. Crowley looked away to fuss at the IVs and grumble unintelligibly, frowning at the way heat crawled to his face. Why was he affected by that at all? It was absolutely true. A marked percentage of his job was serving as physicians’ memory. External portable hardware that reminded them of every task left to be attended to, every valuable bit of patient trivia needed to be considered, and the location of every needed item so carelessly strewn about. This was why he remained in the bay during the interview, trying not to gape as the man revealed a penicillin allergy- a fact he’d undoubtedly need to remind Dr. Fell of later in order to avoid the man’s certain death. </p><p>“Alright, I think that we’re rather squared away, Mr. Gibson. I’m afraid there’s a long wait for surgery and very few available beds in ICU. Conditions being what they are, it appears you’re designed to hunker down here in the trenches with us. Rest assured we will keep you as comfortable as possible.” </p><p>It took every ounce of self-control and probably a minor miracle on top of it for Crowley to abstain from a great roll of his eyes. Among the greatest pet peeves of nurses lay this ‘we’ business. Crowley knew damn well Dr. Fell wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Gibson again before his surgery and subsequent discharge. He was lucky Crowley had gotten on with it and accepted the frustrating truth that he found the doctor easy on the eyes, else there might be a retaliation for such carelessness on this most awful of days.</p><p>“Now, Anthony here is my right hand man, and you will be good for him, eh, old chap? That’s doctor’s orders. I’m sure you’ll find him to be your saving grace before your stay is over.” </p><p>Was he fucking clairevoyant? If he was, he should make eye contact riiight <em> now. </em>Okay. Fine. Too obvious? He should hold up the number of fingers that Crowley was thinking. </p><p>“Naeeee, ye’ve already played the part, lad. A blessed <em> angel </em> , ye. Heavensent,” said the man who’d pointlessly taken an unrecoverable hour of the nurse’s valuable time, reaching out to take Azira’s hand and look at him with such <em> reverence </em>that Crowley didn’t have it in him to scoff, to sneer, to roll his eyes. He didn’t remember starkly turning on his heel and pointedly leaving to retrieve the pain medication before the doctor so much as ordered it, but as he found himself at the pharmacy across from that smug asshole pharmacist Sandel Fons, he figured he must have. </p><p>In through his nose. Out through his mouth. Find five things you see. What do you smell? What can you touch? What does it feel like? Listen for three different sounds.</p><p>He followed through the familiar stress-coping ritual his therapist had prescribed. Ex-therapist, he reminded himself. Sod it. It wasn’t working. Not really. He knew what he bloody saw. He knew what things fucking felt like. He knew the sounds of a hospital so well they haunted him when he tried to sleep. </p><p>It must have been another two hours before he could spare a moment to catch up on paperwork at the nurse’s station. A moment was long enough to have him itching for any excuse to run back out to the bays. He didn’t have the time or energy for self pity. Every ounce of compassion had to be saved for these dozens of poor souls having the worst fucking days of their lives. Not that Crowley was really one for self-compassion anyway. </p><p>Still, he could only somewhat suppress the urge to scream at the blonde physician’s approach. It came out as a mangled noise in his throat that likened a wounded animal. At this point, he was sure he’d rather see Gabriel. At least Gabriel had the audacity to stop smiling when he wasn’t around the patients. Aziraphale always brought along <em>feelings</em> with him. Nasty, contagious things, those. Crowley didn’t appreciate being saddled with them. Other people shouldn’t be able to make him feel certain things. That was too much power for anyone to hold over him. Fuck. He didn’t even have control over his own emotions like that. </p><p>“Crowley, would you mind telephoning to obtain a status report on those two temporary nurses? Must have been three hours now since we called to ask for them, and I’m sure you could use the help.” </p><p>Fuck. That’d slipped his mind. He’d picked up the phone, he’d dialed half the number. Then he saw a woman screaming angrily at her bedridden child and had to go check her wretched behavior. </p><p>“Fine. Sure thing, <em> ‘angel’. ‘We’ </em> will jump right on that, <em> ” </em>Crowley mocked in an nasally voice, lip curled into a sneer as he tilted his head back and forth. </p><p>Why not be an arsehole? Dr. Fell had shown himself capable of being a bastard. His lack of audacity to act like one outright was as good an excuse as any for Crowley to channel the spite and frustration rising to a boiling point. He was a kettle spitting steam. Should have felt nice to release the pressure. Then he looked up at that face. </p><p>Ugh. </p><p>He felt like a world’s reigning wanker. The self-destructive streak in him that acted in outbursts of unwarranted defensiveness scrambled to find ground to justify the poor behavior. Fucking bastard, sticking his nose in Crowley’s business. Having the bloody audacity to notice how distressed he was. Trying to tamp it. Trying to… ease the burden. </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>Looked like a damned kick puppy turning to leave Crowley alone.</p><p>“Hey, got the imaging results you wanted on bay eight. Just a sec.” </p><p>The words spilled out of his mouth before he explicitly gave them permission to happen. He felt conflicted at the way his self-hatred eased up when Aziraphale’s eyes turned back, shimmering with delight and surprise. Crowley realized the corners of his own mouth mirrored the man’s, turning upwards. What the fuck? </p><p>“So quickly? That’s simply splendid! It must have been scraped up from the bottom of the barrel. However did you manage?” Aziraphale schmoozed. </p><p>Speaking of puppies, this must be how they felt when they were showered with praise for good behavior. No wonder they kept on. He was prompted again to wonder, a little louder: what the fuck? </p><p>“Magic, me,” the nurse hummed while thumbing through files. </p><p>“Always have been a bit of a magic fanatic,” Aziraphale bantered back with a warm smile that melted some of the frigid ice protecting Crowley’s heart. </p><p>He pulled out the file and extended it palm-up to the doctor, eager for the strengthening rays of sunshine it would no doubt encourage and irritated at himself for it. He waited for the cheery sound of that ridiculous posh accent raining down praise. It didn’t come, and he turned his head at exactly the wrong time. </p><p>Pure storm warnings on that face. Eyes lifted with heavy grey clouds clustered and threatening to release a torrential downpour at any moment.The slight pink tinge that always accompanied the man’s smiles drained out of his face. His mouth was ajar as if he’d received a punch to the gut. Crowley had seen him sad. This looked more like heartbreak. </p><p>“Wha…?” he started wondering aloud. The results were good, and they’d taken the exchange of multiple favors to get. He got them just for him. He should be pleased as punch. Crowley followed his line of sight down, finding it a bit astray from the files- almost geared towards- </p><p>His fucking inner forearm. The dozens of tidy horizontal scars, now mostly a faded discoloration, weren’t much of a shock. The sad reality was that a fair number of their patients had such scars. No, the one that had caused such distress was the one that ran vertically from his wrist to his elbow, ugly and mangled and raised. Always raised, even after so many years. Then their eyes met. Maybe it was okay- it’s not like he could see the caught terror in Crowley’s-</p><p>Right. No shades at work.</p><p>No glasses + Most mysteriously perceptive man on earth = Fuck Fuck Fuck</p><p>The stress levels returned to their maximum capacity and beyond, spilling over in abundance. Code red. Sound the alarms. The ice was fortified twofold, shooting a chill down Crowley’s spine as it encased his heart. The pallor of his face matched the blonde’s. </p><p>The exchange hadn’t been as long as it felt. Dr. Fell’s slip in expression had been a mere two seconds. Three at most. If anything, he was agile to correct it, politely pretending nothing was amiss and looking back up to likely make some excuse about how his thoughts had escaped him for a moment. But the damage was done. Crowley abruptly shoved the files against the man’s chest and snatched the unobserved arm to his own torso as if it would do anything to disguise the fact that the markings were symmetrical. </p><p>“Nggh, taking my fifteen. Okay? Yeah. Thanks,” he rambled out as he all but ran away, the way he curled into himself a stark contrast to his loose, confident swagger. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Golden eyes glared at the ridiculous fantasy creature perched on Bealz’ desk. Chest of a housecat, tail of a fox, back of a hawk, ears of a raccoon, beak of a toucan, antlers of an antelope, and eyes like a wolf. The two of them sat alone in the office, staring each other down. He always hated these stupid taxidermy pieces Bea made. He knew where the parts came from, too. They were all scraps from salvaged corpses, sewn up to look like they could function. But they knew, and he knew, they weren’t. Just an illusion, wasn’t it? Just like him. Strewn together from parts nobody saw any value in. </p><p>Bealz always did, of course. Said that the only reason nature didn’t replicate it was because it wouldn’t be fair for something so beautiful to go on unchecked. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he leaned forward from his spot on the sofa, scrubbing his face with his hands. He was so tired. He wanted to nap for a century. He wanted the world to bloody well sod off and leave him be. </p><p>The leaden weight of his heart was slightly lifted as he felt the cushion beside him compress. The presence was too far away to feel any body heat, but the comfort of familiarity warmed him up anyway.</p><p>
  <em> Rustle. Pop! </em>
</p><p>“How bad’s it been- using a scale compiled of the worst Ru Paul’s Drag Race ‘Lip Sync For Your Life’s you can think of?” </p><p>
  <em> Crunch. Rustle. Munch.  </em>
</p><p>Crowley sprawled out backwards, keeping his eyes closed and thinking for a moment. Was nice, being asked something and not having to scramble to answer.</p><p>“Eeeeugh. India Ferrah Vs. Mimi Imfurst?” </p><p>“Ah. So you’ve just been army carried through the day kicking and screaming, yeah?” </p><p>
  <em> Crunch.  </em>
</p><p>“‘Bout sums it up,” Crowley groaned, but swung an arm dramatically through the air, “But fuck that tired-ass bitch, I’m winning this race.” </p><p>Bealz snorted, drawing a small smile from the familiar body sprawled out beside them. It encouraged the cracking of an eyelid. Crowley found them sitting- well, perching beside him. Neither of them were very good with chairs or seats. He handled them by treating them as lounges, because dammit, he was 42 and he was tired and he was going to lounge. Bealz crouched ready. Surveyed. Hunted. Always ready to pounce. </p><p>He surmised from their grey scrubs that they’d likely been in the OR all day. Their typically wild layered black locks were tidily pulled back with a headband and a looped ponytail at the back of their head. The shadows under their eyes were darker than usual, but already Crowley could tell they were experiencing gradual revival via Doritos. An energy drink was on the side table beside them. The fussing maternal part of him wondered how many they’d had today. </p><p>“Called in when the bridge collapsed?” </p><p>“Yep,” they popped the ‘p’ and exhaled noisily, “3 AM. Been in surgery the better part of ten hours.” </p><p>Crowley decided not to waste his breath on asking how they got out of the building with all the police. Bealz had mysterious powers, and he had concluded he would never fully understand them. </p><p>“How’s that, then?” </p><p>A long pause. <em> Crunch munch munch. </em>“Remember that prat, Colton?” </p><p>“Which home?” </p><p>“Haringey.” </p><p>“Remind me?” </p><p>“He’d always stab his juice pouches all over with his straw and squeeze it at us and go ‘I’m gonna do this with your guts!’” they mocked, wildly swinging about a triangle cheese dust-coated crisp as if it was a knife.</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Such a charmer, him.” </p><p>“Yeah. Well. Had a patient like that today- like the juice pouch, not the kid. Too many punctures. Like a human pincushion. Couldn’t get to the next one’s fast enough. Died on the table, squirting everywhere. Horror scene.” </p><p>As disturbing as the picture was, Crowley had always appreciated the surgeon’s absolute disinterest in entertaining social decorum. </p><p>“Gross.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“That really blows, Trix.”</p><p>“Does. Doesn’t it?” </p><p>Crowley frowned as he examined their profile. To anyone else, it was restricted in expression to a specific scale of amusement or the bone-chilling lack thereof. He knew it better. It hurt to lose patients. Of course it did. He could usually tell how young the patient or how deeply Beatrix empathized with them by their demeanor afterwards. This one stung. </p><p>“Wanna tell me about it?” </p><p>Their jaw worked as they slowly chewed. Their icey blue eyes glided towards his face to deliver a scrutinizing stare.</p><p>“No, you’re already buried alive.” </p><p>“Exactly. What’s the harm? Pile it on.” </p><p>“No,” Beatrix defied, sticking their nose in the air, “I shan’t. But I can offer you salt in this trying time? Helps. Medical fact.”</p><p>“Uh, yeah. For <em>you</em> Must I tell you daily that I do not share your salt-wasting woes?”</p><p>“Doesn’t take Adrenal Hyperplasia to enjoy a bit of junk food.” </p><p>Crowley considered this for a moment, sprawling out more in a way no one with bones should be able to and invading Bealz’ space. At this point, the fact that he somehow remained on the surface of the couch was a spit in the face of physics. The bag of crisps was shaken in his direction, a tempting offer after six hours with no food. </p><p>“I’m too sad to move,” he whined, “Feed me.” </p><p>Well accustomed to his token dramatics, the more petite figure reached to deposit a crisp into their partner’s open mouth. </p><p>“Ah yes,” he chewed, “I forgot how essential disgusting crisps were for proper brooding.”</p><p>“Alright, spill.” </p><p>A prolonged gaze passed between yellow and blue eyes. Crowley didn’t want a talk. He wanted a cuddle. Wasn’t as if Beatrix didn’t need one, too. The pair certainly weren’t opposed to physical affection. Hell, no way they could both be happily single in their forties if they didn’t admit it took having the bravery to ask for a hug or spoon when they needed one. But this was work. Work had different boundaries. Boundaries that maintained an image of fearsomeness, power, independance, and distance. </p><p>“I’ll go first,” they offered diplomatically, “Had to leave the residential buildin’ via garbage chute.” </p><p>Well that was one question answered. Crowley gave an impressed grunt. That was a fair start. “Eeeeeaugh. My stress-spiraling is becoming so evident that Fell pulled me off critical cases this morning. Rrrright there in front of everyone, just- tch. Pulled rank.” </p><p>“Ohhh spicy, bet that was a turn on.” Beatrix was kind enough to elaborate when Crowley wrinkled his nose at them, “Y’know. ‘Cause you fancy ‘im.” </p><p>“I do not,” he said simply. They’d been at this for weeks now. No point wasting energy, “And it’s your turn.”</p><p>“You owe me one from tellin’ you ‘bout juice bag girl.” </p><p>“Fair ‘nough. Withstood an hour of homophobic slurs to absolutely no effect.”</p><p>“Same hat. That bastard Hastur could tell I was wearing down in the middle of my third surgery. Couldn’t step out to adjust my med dosage. He went on with that ‘she/her’ bullshit when referring to me the whole surgery. I mean. ‘S fine. Ruler of Hell, me. I can ‘Sisyphus’ the twat no problem. But. Y’know.”</p><p>They curled into themself a bit more, hugging their knees. </p><p>“Fucking wanker. Let’s kill him.” Crowley growled, a protective streak ripping through his chest. They put up with enough of that shit from patients. They deserved to have their gender respected by coworkers who knew better. </p><p>“What’re you thinkin’? Drop an anvil on his head from the roof?”</p><p>“Ah yes. The classic ‘Wile E. Coyote’ angle. Love it.” </p><p>“Your turn.” </p><p>Crowley hesitated long enough that it made Bealz’ protective energy come out in kind. Theirs was much scarier. Scary, them. The scariest.</p><p>“I uh… Azira saw the scars.” </p><p>He felt so fucking small, no matter how wide he spread out. How did that happen? His eyes tiredly shifted to Bealz face, and for the second time today, he wished he could just keep his eyes to his fucking self. </p><p>Confusion was there first, but it shifted into a murderous, solemn anger. At least, that’s what it appeared like on the outside. Crowley knew better. It wasn’t anger. It was the pain accompanying the reminder of the biggest heartbreak in Beatrix’s entire life. </p><p>“Trix, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”</p><p>His panic was cut short by a backhanded swat to the forehead. When he looked back after flinching, the look was gone and replaced by mild irritation.</p><p>“Don’t fucking apologize to me for anything. We did <em> not </em>go through all those years of therapy just to tiptoe around this. You can talk to me about everything. Just- you know- yeah. Anyway. People see ‘em all the time. What makes this different?” they adjusted, crumpling up their empty Doritos bag and chucking it towards the bin. It bounced off the edge. Crowley made a note to pick it up on his way out. </p><p>“Oh, I dunno,” he sighed, “Usually people act like ‘not my problem’ or, ‘doesn’t look new, no point thinkin’ ‘bout it’. But him- it was just a second, but Bea, he looked like he was watching a litter of kittens actively be drowned. An- an- an -and I was the kittens. <em> And </em>the wanker drownin’ ‘em. And maybe- maybe it wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t been acting all day as if my emotions were stamped on my forehead. A bloody empath, him.” </p><p>Bea’s face looked passive, but their mind buzzed busily, eyeline pivoting around the doorway. They had a tendency to go off in their own world when giving something great consideration. </p><p>“So he sees the truth. He sees you’re struggling. That scares you.” Bealz watched Crowley stiffen. Sit up. Withdraw. “Not draggin’ you, babe. I’m just sayin’. You an’ me, we like to look strong. He’s figured out you don’t always feel the way that matches up with that look. That you have a <em> history </em>of not feeling strong. You don’t trust him, yet.  You don’t know what he’s gonna do with it. ‘Course it scares you, mate. That’s fucking scary.” </p><p>Always so forward, this one. It’s why Crowley loved them. No bullshit. Meanwhile, he was self-deluded with heaps of it. It helped, sometimes- fine, most times- to have that analytical perspective. </p><p>“I forgot I had them,” Crowley realized, feeling a bit stupid. </p><p>“‘S good, innit?” </p><p>“No. It’s infuriating. It’s unfair.” </p><p>Bealz waited, eyes boring into Crowley with that familiar animal-like intensity.</p><p>“I know the mistakes I’ve made. I do. I don’t need a visual reminder of my fuck-ups. I don’t need <em> other </em>people seeing… seeing proof of them. Knowing that I am one.”</p><p>“You’re not,” Beatrix snapped with more than a little irritation. It became a precarious situation when someone got protective over a person who’s greatest danger was themself. “You’re a survivor.” </p><p>Crowley sighed, glaring at the taxidermy yet again, “That’s a miserable reminder, too.” </p><p>And it was. Remembering he was a survivor only served to prompt wondering over how he’d made it this far. A wish and a prayer, he supposed.</p><p>Bealz fixed him with a sidelong glance.</p><p>“Give me a pen.”</p><p>“What the <em> FUCK </em> is with doctors and stealing pens! Buy your own fucking pens! You certainly make enough!”</p><p>Bealz snorted at the passionate outburst. “We’re brainwashed with a very specific form of kleptomania at our white coat ceremony. There’s a video and everything. It’s a <em> disease, </em>Tony. I’m merely a victim.’” </p><p>Crowley ceded a cheeky grin alongside his pen. Fine. They earned that one. They snatched his hand and turned his palm upward, pulling the skin at his wrist almost painfully taught and setting to work on a doodle. Always just as into art as anatomy, them. </p><p>He closed his eyes and took measured breaths through his nose, focusing on the feeling of the pressure points where the fingertips of Bealz’ much smaller hand met his scrawny wrist. The scratch of the pen depositing ink against his skin. A part of him basked in the singular focus and attention one could only receive from a surgeon. </p><p>“There. New reminder to get you through the day.” </p><p>Unique golden eyes emerged again, and he lifted his arm to inspect his new ink. Instantly, a grin cracked the morose scowl his lips fixed on a moment prior. Even without color, he could tell. It was a Jewel Beetle. </p><p>Of all the petite punk’s macabre and bizarre interests, one reigned above them all. Everyone knew it, and if they didn’t, they’d find out within about twenty seconds of speaking with Beatrix Bealz. Their greatest interest: bugs. Their oddities collection had found its origins with crystallized insects.Then the live ones came along, resulting in a collection much larger than most people had comfort so much as hearing about. Crowley himself didn’t particularly care one way or another, but he could listen to Bealz passionately spew about them all day long. </p><p>Of the two of them, Crowley was broodier, moodier, and sappier by far, and he used words (and the occasional obscure grunt and wild gestures) to convey all of it. Bealz wasn’t much one for words. Still, they had simple, direct ways of conveying their affections. They failed to speak the reminder aloud when bestowing the image, but Crowley knew what it meant; he could read it like a book. He could find the subtext hidden within the lines of the intricately crafted insect. He took the time to pluck out each one, line them up, and string them together. Bealz had spared not one detail:</p><p>
  <em> You are soft on the inside. You wear a hard protective shell on the outside. You’re evasive. You spook easily and take flight fast. But you’re unique. You’re resourceful. Lots of people want to crush you underfoot. Many have tried. All have failed. You’re too fast. Too clever. You’re a resilient little fucker, aren’t you? You’ll always find your way back into the sunshine, because your love for it is bigger than any fear of being seen. And of course you’ll be seen- you’re beautiful. Some people would be happy to embed you in jewelry or sew you onto silks, but you’re not a jewel or a prize; you’re infinitely more valuable- you’re alive. You’re awe-inspiring. You’re my favorite thing. My greatest interest. I love you. </em>
</p><p>Lips parted, but not even a strangled garble came out. He closed his mouth again, worked his throat in an attempt to swallow the lump that had risen up in it. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. A part of him wanted to chuck the work rules out the window and snake his limbs around Bealz in an inescapable cuddle (typical Crowley-brand affection), but violating mindfully-agreed-upon boundaries wasn’t a very considerate way to show gratitude. </p><p>So instead he found himself gazing at Beatrix with watery eyes and an expression that dripped with pure adoration. </p><p>Bealz. Bealz was how he’d made it this far. </p><p>“There’s you, yeah?” </p><p>Beatrix gave that sharp, feral grin and rolled their eyes with a groan of complaint. They pushed haphazardly at Crowley’s face with the flat of their hand, “Yeah, dumbass. There will always be me.” </p><p>He refused to let up on the sappy heart eyes, and Bealz grinned bigger before holding up two fingers, a threat that he had a rib-jab coming if he didn’t knock if off. “Quit it, you can’t go around giving me cow eyes at work. Might as well be nuzzling me and purring like a damned cat.” </p><p>“Wha- I’m just looking at you! What is this, Pride and Prejudice?” </p><p>“Exactly, and that’s a rather presumptuous exhibit of affection, Mr. Darcy. Not to mention <em> audacious.” </em></p><p>“Gh- It’s- <em> I’m </em>Mr. Darcy? No way! With my sass and wit? Eliza all the way.” </p><p>“Nah, I’m wittier than you. And wilder. And better read. Besides, you have all the broody, awkward exterior with melting marshmallow insides business.” </p><p>“<em> Awkw- </em>You know? Go ahead, try to hurt me. Can’t; you’re too soft. Gave me a bug. Gig’s up,” he grinned, proudly brandishing his wrist. </p><p>“Oi! Crowley!” snarked a voice from the doorway. </p><p>“Ain’t you heard of knocking, you great sodding dingus?” Bealz snapped in that voice that always conveyed a loud, demeaning admonishment without quite translating to yelling. Crowley’s yelling always just came across as yelling, occasionally tinged with a touch of hysterics. He figured that’s why Beatrix was the one in a position of power; they’d perfected the art of exuding control and superiority, of catering every poor sod that crossed them with a personally catered skin-crawling experience. </p><p>“Door was open, sir,” Ligur muttered, ceding a begrudging humility anyway. Bealz only fixed him with an unamused expression and a cocked brow, allowing him to conclude he was permitted to relay the message. “Winger wants to see you. Think you’ve gone and stepped in it.” </p><p>That was about as deep as his attempt at intimidation would run when in the midst of present company. He hated Crowley. All the trauma surgery nurses did. Wasn’t worth getting their throat ripped out by Bealz. </p><p>“Right. Perfect. Lovely,” Crowley grunted in a way that conveyed the inaccuracy of any one of those words. The pair glowered at the door until the opposing presence had the bright idea to scuttle under whatever rock he’d emerged from. He sniffed in Bealz direction, “So, whaddya say, Trixie? Care to play interference?” </p><p>“Fuck, that sounds fun; you know how riling Winger up always helps me blow off steam. Tragically, I cannot. Foreign bodies to rip out and broken bones to hammer pins into.” </p><p>“Such a poet, you. Enjoy that,” Crowley mused, stretching out his long limbs after managing to scrape them all up. He headed towards the exit and tossed the Doritos bag into the bin as he went, yelling over his shoulder from the hallway, “Hey- take your meds before you go back in!” </p><p>“Yes <em> Mum </em>, I know,” Bealz mocked, loud enough to hear, but the very next moment, they scanned the office, wearing a clueless expression as they did so. Where’d they put those pesky things, anyway? </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Crowley no sooner raised his wrist to rap at the door frame with his knuckles than a cold, emotionless voice interrupted, “Close the door and have a seat.” </p><p>“Uh. Dunno. How will anyone hear my screams?” </p><p>Those- fuck, he’d never actually looked the asshole in the eyes before, were those <em> purple?- </em>eyes bore into him coldly. There was no irritation. No fake smile. </p><p>Uneasiness squeezed Crowley’s stomach without a hint of mercy. He knew the tile flooring was shitty, but surely it was sturdier than to sway as it felt like it was doing now? </p><p>“I’m giving you the option to maintain your dignity.” </p><p>The fuck did <em> that </em>mean? Unsurely, he shut the door but opted to remain standing, tangling his hands deep in his pockets to hide their sudden shaking. Crowley had always disliked authority. Shamed it. Called it out for what it was. Spat in its face. But he’d done none of it without fear in his heart. They were the actions of a trapped animal, not a righteous warrior. </p><p>Gabriel released a steady stream of air. He didn’t look nervous. Probably was too fucking privileged to know what nerves felt like. He did, however, carry the cadence of someone preparing themself for a degree of unpleasantness. Crowley didn’t feel offered the luxury of the same preparation. </p><p>“I know about the opioid theft. We have two options. You can own up to it, and we can <em> maybe </em>talk Godfrey into the possibility of allowing you to remain employed if you agree to a rehabilitation program and to step down as Head Nurse. Or, you can deny it. I can go to Godfrey and submit a report. You can lose your job and license.” </p><p>The gears in Crowley’s head ground to a halt. Well that was inconvenient. It would be much more helpful were they to pick it up a notch. </p><p>“What are you on about, mate?” </p><p>Gabriel took another deep breath through his nose. One of those stupidly broad hands reached towards his monitor, and it was turned to face Crowley. The nurse figured he’d entertain him and take a glance. </p><p>“You took 40 mg of oxycontin out of the pharmacy three times within one hour for the same patient. You’ve managed to slide under the radar for a long time now, but you got too greedy. Today we started using an enhanced surveillance software to catch the culprit, and unfortunately for you, we did..” </p><p>“Did ye get kicked in the fockin head as a lad?” Crowley deadpanned, a brogue dipping in and out of his speech. Ah yes, lashing out, his tried and true stress response. </p><p>“So you’re denying it, then?”</p><p>“Yes! It’s bollocks! How do yeh even know this is accurate? You said it’s the first day using the software. Could be a glitch and yer going to fucking <em> threaten me?” </em>Crowley hissed, crouching forward in his best attempt at ‘menacing’, lips curled into a snarl. </p><p>“Crowley, Sandel called me both the second and third time. We have time stamps and footage. The second time I overlooked it due to the hectic atmosphere of the day. But three times? Regardless of my opinion on you as a person, you’re a meticulous nurse. And then there’s the matter that today you were- you were <em> acting </em>impaired. I have never seen you so absent.”</p><p>Suddenly Crowley’s saliva felt strangely thick in his mouth. Almost too thick to swallow. Perhaps he should have sat. The shaking was obvious now. His menacing crouch over the desk looked something closer to desperation now. Gabriel had the audacity to look disappointed. As if he <em> liked </em>Crowley. As if he wouldn’t be eager to wipe out any kind of authority standing in the way of him running the A&amp;E. </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I had a shit day. Care to hop off your blessed pedestal and pretend you’re a human being capable of empathy? As if you’ve never had a bad day. I’ve seen you make mistakes that <em> killed </em> people, that <em> should </em> have gotten you fired,” he knew as the words were leaving his mouth that this was the wrong approach. Any hesitance- real or manifested- that Gabriel had reserved about fucking him over was fading fast. Still, his tone got harsher and his words got louder. “Are you really this goddamned mad for a bit of power? I know you can’t bloody stand the idea that you are anything less than perfect, but I have a hard time imagining that once you ruin my <em> fucking </em> life and these thefts keep happening, you won’t realize what proper sodding <em> tosser </em>you are!” </p><p>Gabriel stood halfway through the rant, grabbing his materials and making for the door. </p><p>“Dun ye fockin dare! Winger!” Crowley shouted, storming after him, but fuck, even as long as his legs were, he had to run to catch up to that power walk. “Are you seriously this petty? I mean I knew you were a right prat but this is- I didn’t think you were pathetic enough to be capable of getting this dirty. I thought you had more dignity than that.” </p><p>Gabriel turned, that fake smile back and vicious on his features as he grasped the office handle of The Almighty herself. </p><p>He spared a moment to spit back in a too-sweet voice, “And I didn’t know you’d stoop to such pitiful attempts at manipulation. Here I thought that as much of a spineless, narcissistic, tyrannical, unlikable wretch of a human being you are, you had some integrity in your work. Consider us equally disappointed.” </p><p>And then he was through the door. The door was shut. There was no one left to be lash out at. Just Crowley. Just the underwhelming reality of his life being blown to smithereens. The walls were still standing. No one was screaming. He hadn’t been stabbed in the gut. Everything looked normal. Unchanged. This is how he went out- not with a bang, but with a whimper. </p><p>And he did whimper. His heart began racing. His hands tied knots in shocks of red hair, and he paced. He paced until he couldn’t breathe, and then he slid down the wall outside the office, vision growing spotty from the lack of air. Would anyone miss him? Of course not. They’d be fine. They had a new, better leader now. Winger was right; he <em> was </em> spineless, openly sobbing on the floor of a filthy hallway while the only thing that made him worth anything at all was ripped away.</p><p>“Crowley! Whatever is the matter?” </p><p>Crowley’s head snapped up. Dr. Fell. Of course! Of course- he wouldn’t let this happen. The hope died in his heart and devastation took his place. He fucked up. Perhaps he didn’t deserve a rescue. And yet the man was crouching before him, wild concern smacked across his face. </p><p>“I didn’t do it! I didn’t! You have to believe me! I wouldn’! I swear!” Crowley gasped out when his breath would accommodate him enough to allow it.</p><p>Blue eyes searched him, analyzing, and then, like magic, Aziraphale’s face went steady and calm. Crowley didn’t notice that he’d grasped at the soft hands before him, but his heart slowed the smallest measure as gentle and sure fingers rubbed calming circles into his palms. “My dear, all is well. I need you to take some breaths with me now.” </p><p>It was posh and gentle, but it wasn’t a question. Crowley jerked his head in a nod as another painful sob ripped through his chest. In years to come, he would still marvel at how he lacked any memory of what events transpired in that hallway on that day. He wouldn’t remember how his throat opened back up or how his lungs returned to their familiar tides. He wouldn’t remember sounding his trembling voice or the words he made. He wouldn’t remember Dr. Fell leaving his side, standing up, and entering Godfrey’s office. He wouldn’t remember how his mind got to the warm fuzzy place where for the first time in his life, the voices of fear and self-loathing shut their bloody holes. </p><p>He’d only know that all that must have happened, because he was left with the vague memory of sitting sprawled out against the wall, dazed as he watched his long fingers open and shut towards himself, forearms resting against his knees. His palms felt funny. They were tingling with some pleasant sensation he was sure he’d never felt before, and he couldn’t for the life of him explain how they got that way. He inhaled deep through his nose. It felt good. Grounding. It was so quiet. But for once, that didn’t make him nervous at all. He felt okay. That was one for the records all on its own. </p><p>Golden eyes flickered to the blotch of ink on his wrist. </p><p>
  <em> You’re a resilient little fucker, aren’t you? </em>
</p><p>He smiled. </p><p>The door opened, and Crowley flexed his hands and shook them out before gazing upwards at the two men’s voices. </p><p>“Congratulations, Crowley,” Gabriel hummed, the sentiment dripping with sarcasm, “You’ve postponed your ruin three entire hours- that’s when we get the results of the A&amp;E staff urinalysis. Don’t try to slink out of here without giving a sample.” </p><p>“Dr. Winger, I can’t say such sorry sportsmanship is very becoming of you.”</p><p>Dr. Fell was turned at such an angle where Crowley couldn’t see his face. His voice was tinged with something the redhead couldn’t place for the life of him. Whatever it was, it wiped the smile off Winger’s face. </p><p>Crowley learned Gabriel did experience nervousness, after all. The grin was soon reinstated, but the foundation had been notably shaken. Ah. So that’s what it was. Aziraphale was a hypnotist. </p><p>“Yes, well. I can’t say it’ll be very becoming of you when the results come back and I get your title of Chief. Some advice, sunshine? If you’re going to bet, pick a better horse,” the younger physician threw Crowley a sidelong glance and strutted down the hallway the way only a man with delusional confidence could do. </p><p>“What was that about?” Crowley asked, nearly jumping at the sound of his own voice after the trance he’d been in. Aziraphale turned to regard him and smiled. It was the same sunny smile as ever, but for some reason it hit Crowley like a round-house kick to the chest. Knocked the air clean out of him.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure it’s not necessary to inform you how preposterously competitive our American friend can be. He’s insisted that if my vote of confidence for you is misplaced, I cede my title to him. I believe he’s been, em- what’s that lovely expression they use across the pond?- ah yes, played for a sucker.” </p><p>Crowley was dizzy with a near-painful fondness. There was a slight ringing in his ears as he clarified, “You… you were so sure I was telling the truth that you risked your career?” </p><p>Aziraphale hummed and pursed his lips in thought. </p><p>“I suppose I did,” he confirmed as if commenting on temperate weather. </p><p>Crowley scoffed, feeling a mad grin overcome his face. The freckled skin of his arms was gooseflesh. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His heart hammered, not in the way it did when he was panicking but more in the way it did when he was at the top of a very tall roller coaster and couldn’t see what was on the other side. </p><p>“You’re mad as a fucking hatter!” </p><p>If it was anyone else, they might hold it over his head that he shouldn’t be throwing insults at someone who just saved his ass. But it wasn’t anyone else, it was <em> him </em>. True to character, Aziraphale provided the courtesy of pretending to be offended. </p><p>“Well, I don’t believe such accusations will be necessary,” he performatively chided, but he must have liked something about how Crowley was currently existing, because he slid into a grin that the redhead was quite desperate to catch in a bottle and keep for those miserable days where he felt cold and lonely and sad. A pop of the cork and the whole world would be okay. His joints wouldn’t ache and neither would his heart. His head would shut up like Aziraphale had coaxed it to just now. Telemarketers would perform walk outs. World hunger would be solved. Empty real estate would be redistributed to the homeless.</p><p>“Why would you do that?”” Crowley breathed. </p><p>The sun coming in the window at the end of the corridor was blind-siding Crowley, and he squinted to keep his eyes trained on Aziraphale’s face. The man seemed to notice, and strolled to stand between Crowley and the incoming light so he might not strain his eyes. So perceptive. So thoughtful.</p><p>“It’s as you said to me some time ago. Trust is earned, and it wouldn’t seem fair to ask for such a precious thing if I didn’t instill mine in you, in kind.” </p><p><em> You can instill in me whatever you like, </em>Crowley thought wistfully, and then his freckled face went pink. The fuck was that? </p><p>And then it happened. Aziraphale shifted all the way into the light, and the incoming beams outlined every line and curve of his white and cream clad silhouette. The rays of sun dove eagerly into those white-blonde curls (Crowley couldn’t blame them) and formed a perfect halo behind his head. Crowley wasn’t breathing. Not anymore. Heart wasn’t beating either- might distract him.</p><p>“It might also be worth noting- I find myself a very good judge of character. You do a very good job of maintaining that thorny facade of yours- and I hardly mean to discount your efforts- but I don’t believe my faith in you might be so unwavering if you weren’t, at heart, just a <em> little bit </em>of a good person.” </p><p>There was a clear playful emphasis on ‘little bit’. That was fine. He could say whatever he liked about Crowley. The nurse couldn’t complain. After all, <em> he </em>wasn’t the all-seeing one. </p><p>Crowley raised to his feet, shocked when his limbs didn’t ache from sprawling out on the hard surface. He felt like he’d awoken from the century-long nap he had longed for earlier in the day. His heart was thundering in his ears. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. </p><p>“Yeah, well. Think you could be tempted to keep that assessment between us? Have a reputation to upkeep, y’know,” he attempted. He had to be charming, didn’t he? He would be quite the sorry, self-hating bastard if he didn’t even try to trick this person into thinking he was worth breathing in the direction of. That he was worth allowing to entertain him. That Crowley might deserve the chance of inciting that smile that could make a whole garden come into bloom.</p><p>That one. </p><p>That one right there that became apparent on Aziraphale’s face as he shifted from his position now that Crowley had. He even laughed a little- prettiest thing Crowley had ever heard, he swore to Go- Sat- Somebody- before teasing, “No temptations needed. This one’s on the house, my dear.” </p><p>
  <em> Is it possible someone like me could be dear to someone like you? Can I be? Can I try? </em>
</p><p>The illusion was broken, but Crowley knew what he had seen. Not a man. Certainly not a hypnotist. Aziraphale made to pass him, and as he did, Crowley sighed a couple little words that took him completely off guard. </p><p>“Thanks, angel.” </p><p>Surprise and perplexion gripped that lovely face at first, fading quickly into an achingly sentimental understanding and relief. In the end, his features returned to share that beautiful smile. </p><p>Crowley felt stupid as he smiled back, but he couldn’t care less. He was floating away now, losing sight of anything he might grab onto for dear life. Wouldn’t care to hold on, anyway. There he went, chasing after angel’s wings.</p><p>Going </p><p>Going.</p><p>Gone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nothing says "king gremlin" like sneaking out of your locked-down apartment building by sliding down the garbage chute. Such a long chapter, sorry! So much i wanted to put into it. </p><p>My current estimate for the ending chapter count is around 25-30  ~ </p><p>Thank you so much for reading! It absolutely makes my day (week, quarantine, etc.) to read your comments ^^ </p><p>As for the next chapter? If you have any interest in Rocky Horror shadow casts, staff bonding, or Crowley in crop tops, you're in for a treat.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Staff Bonding Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley wasn’t the culprit. Of course he wasn’t. Aziraphale hadn’t believed otherwise for a single moment. An orderly’s urinalysis came back positive, and the door to Godfrey’s office had no sooner shut than the woman responsible had burst into unflattering blubbering and fessed up to her sticky hands. Gabriel sulked over losing the bargain despite Aziraphale’s generous lack of insisting upon collateral. Crowley received a slap on the wrist for losing track of prescriptions, but the punishment likened the impact of a snap-on bracelet more than anything that would so much as sting.</p><p>The matter was sorted. All was well. Aziraphale fully expected a full return to business as usual.</p><p>For the most part, he got it. For what was left, there was Crowley. </p><p>Apparently launching the small beacon of trust had left a mammoth wake, and the tetchy, detail-oriented nurse was now remarkably cozy with the doctor. In his own way, of course. Still, he refrained from talking about himself or his life. Still, he broke the rules at every turn and would treat orders as optional if he disagreed with them. Still, he was short-tempered and loud, but it no longer extended itself to the A&amp;E’s newest physician. </p><p>Instead, he became remarkably helpful- an act that had Aziraphale reeling. He’d thought Crowley was a remarkable nurse even when the redhead was still spreading propaganda and converting the nurse’s station into a unified Fort-Against-Fell. Now that he’d crossed the self-implaced barriers and stood in the same corner, the blonde found him nothing short of an invaluable asset he’d be happy to never go without another day in his professional life. </p><p>Since the mystery of missing medications had been solved, Aziraphale found himself paid back tenfold with a number of benefits. He hardly needed to utter an entire word with a raised voice before the nurse was quick at his side, assisting. Crowley took agency in learning his strongest skills and funneling compatible cases in his direction. Test results were coming back faster than they ever had before even when put at the end of dauntingly long queues. Aziraphale found himself with the privilege of such respect from his nursing staff that he could speak a request into what seemed to be thin air and somewhere, someone would be putting it to action. </p><p>While the blonde found himself struggling to settle on his feelings for Gabriel Winger, he found some of the wisdom he shared on the older doctor’s first day to reign very true; where Crowley led, his staff followed without question. </p><p>The doctor would have concluded it was all an act of appreciation, but some gestures spelled out something closer to fondness and investment. He was hot, then cold, the transition between them so fast it gave the blonde whiplash. A well timed joke when the burden of pain and death weighed too obviously on Aziraphale’s heart. An “Excuse me, it’s called the <em> nurse’s </em>station” when the other nurses discussed dating lives while their Chief hovered nearby. A snack and coffee appearing on his desk in his office after he’d forgotten to take a lunch. The snitty excuse that Aziraphale made more mistakes when he was hungry and Crowley’s job was to keep that from happening in rejection of a ‘thank you’. </p><p>It was a careful balance, and occasionally Aziraphale would marvel at the realization that the redhead was breaking his back to keep <em> him </em>happy. Almost as if he cared. Suspiciously as if he fancied him.</p><p>It left Aziraphale struggling to settle on his feelings for him, too. They were just out of arms’ reach. Just like the real Anthony was. His compassion, empathy, and advocacy for patients was unmatched. Surely, it had to come from somewhere, didn’t it? Every time an attempt was made to find the source of those rivers of emotion, to measure the depth of their pools and marvel at the colors of their waters, he would be stopped short by a guarded mask of professionalism. </p><p>Perhaps it was justified. It really wasn’t Aziraphale’s business. Still, he found himself drawn to discover more. Perhaps Crowley really was a standoffish control-freak with a bee in his bonnet, but every single instinct and logical thought the doctor had pointed to the exact opposite. They indicated a man who was wrought with emotion and depth and kindness. A man who clung to control to stay afloat. In such a case, Aziraphale wanted to reach out, to close the gap, to heal and to help, to take the reins so the poor man could breathe. How inappropriate would that be? Certainly, better to respect the boundaries drawn clearly in the sand and be appreciative Crowley had allowed him so close this past month. </p><p>As it stood, the gates were open. The doors were locked tight. </p><p>Aziraphale, by rule, kept his open, both figuratively and literally. One never knew when a person in need would require a safe room to step into. </p><p>Still, he found himself surprised when he looked up in response to a lazy knock on the door and found Crowley standing there, sunglasses in place and black leather jacket zipped tightly. A sleek silver motorbike helmet with a black and red snake coiled on its side was hanging loosely in the grip of his free hand. Aziraphale’s gentle blue gaze idled nervously on the item. Memories as recent as that day spun through his mind of mangled limbs and cracked skulls, all the work of motorbike crashes. Soon his guest distracted him with a polite- and if he wasn’t mistaken, was that a <em> nervous?- </em>throat-clearing. </p><p>Even beyond the glasses, Crowley looked a bit on edge, rearranging himself three separate times on the doorway before sticking with the most uncomfortable and unnatural looking position yet. He seemed to be having a bit of a battle with biting at his mouth and then reminding himself not to, just to inevitably return to worrying at the plush lower lip. Aziraphale indulged in a measured inspection over his reading glasses, and Crowley squirmed in response, adjusting to another position that aimed for casual and missed by a landslide. Something about the whole matter reminded the doctor of a nervous teenager asking their crush to a dance. It was quite cute.</p><p>“You uh…err, thought you finished up an hour or so ago?” the nurse said, visibly blushing when his voice cracked over an ‘o’. Aziraphale gave a kind smile and jerked his head towards the open briefcase and jacket resting in the chair beside the door. </p><p>“I nearly was, then I remembered an article I read in the British Medical Journal just a few weeks ago. It gave me an idea as to something more we might be able to do for Miss Booker.” </p><p>“Right, erm… plans then, today? How about Friday?” </p><p>Aziraphale raised a brow, raising a hand to take off his glasses amidst the discovery that his suspicion of Crowley fancying him was perhaps not unfounded. Was there a school dance coming up he didn’t know about? </p><p>“I have a weekly obligation on friday evenings.” </p><p>“Right, then. Um,” Crowley muttered, fidgeting. After a moment, he seemed to win some resolve, taking a deep breath and cocking his head. He offered a grin- <em>that </em>grin- the devilish, dashing, debonair one Aziraphale had only seen two or three times before and only served to put him at increasing risk of fainting each time. His voice was more musical when it sounded again, “Saturday night. then? C’monnn, even a big, important doctor such as yourself can’t be busy <em>all </em>the time.” </p><p>“If it’s in the evening...,” the doctor found himself saying. My goodness, had this man been a demon in his past life? Who’d have guessed he’d be such the exquisite tempter. “Might I inquire what manner of trouble it is you’re planning on getting me into?” </p><p>Crowley’s grin broadened, and he swung an arm to point at some imaginary courtroom reporter. </p><p>“Let the record show there was no mention of trouble-making until Dr. Fell brought it up himself.” </p><p>That won a grin from Aziraphale, and he folded his hands, resting his chin on them. Seeming to feel more comfortable now, Crowley sauntered into the middle of the room, his hips swaying in that hypnotic way they did, and draped himself over the back of a chair opposite Aziraphale’s desk. </p><p>“Staff’s going to a show. We uh… usually do something every month. Figured you were overdue an invite. Would have offered earlier but- y’know- I <em> might </em>have a deep inclination to distrust authority.” </p><p>So it was a group event. The doctor felt some disappointment flood his chest and wondered why. Perhaps it was he who fancied Crowley, and not the other way around. If so, surely he would know?</p><p>“Might?” Aziraphale laughed after bolstering his resolve. He watched Crowley’s face shift and the way his lips twitched on one side. He knew what was going on, even beneath those glasses. Every time he smiled too genuinely or chimed a laugh, Crowley would be flooded with a look Aziraphale could only liken to that of a child being told their macaroni art was a complete and utter masterpiece. </p><p>“Oh, you know,” the redhead was quick to recover, giving a toothy grin yet again, “Might be good for you to get to know the staff. You know. On a more personal level. Helps, sometimes, to know what’s going on beneath.” </p><p><em> Yes! </em> Aziraphale nearly shouted, <em> Let me see what’s behind those locked doors. Let me dig deeper into that truth you have so deeply buried. Let me know you.  </em></p><p>He took a moment to reign in his thoughts. His guest seemed to take the hesitation as resistance, and was quick to work with new temptations, “It’ll be fun, yeah? No Winger- wouldn’t bring everyone down like that. Anathema will get shitfaced and try to read your palm or summat. Adam becomes an evil little mastermind- most confident little fucker you’ve ever seen. And our sweet little Madame Tracy- just, trust me on this. You’ll want to hear some of her stories.” </p><p>Aziraphale wanted him to keep going, as he very much enjoyed the process of being convinced, but he realized the figure pacing around the doorway in torn black clothing was Dr. Bealz, also holding a helmet. </p><p>“Right, where’s this show, then?” he asked, and he nearly kicked himself for taking so long when the most earnest expression of relief and happiness spread across Crowley’s features. Had he really been so worried Aziraphale would turn him down? Could he possibly want him there so badly after acting so icy these past months?</p><p>Aziraphale wanted to see more of that expression. He wanted to see what all those soft emotions looked like. He wanted to see everything between the brave battle-mask and the painful terror of a breakdown that he’d witnessed. </p><p>A sharp, pointed little face fringed with askew black hair stuck into the doorway, and Beatrix droned, “Right, ‘s been five minutes. Leaving now,” before retreating and pointedly walking down the hallway, trailed with the echo of stiletto heels. </p><p>“Fuck!” Crowley barked, standing up right and rushing backwards towards the door as he spoke. Apparently, the threat of being abandoned was not simply a performative one. “Uh! ‘The Apple’! In Soho. Corner of Dean St. Eleven o’clock. Bring a load of newspaper!” </p><p>The last bit was shouted over his shoulder before echoes of sneakers running down the corridor were embellished with shouts of, “Fuck! Trix if you leave me I’m gonna be <em> so </em>bloody cross! How you walk that fast in those?” </p><p>Aziraphale was left behind in the dim light of his desk lamp, scribbling down the information before at last finding a chance to marvel at its oddity.</p><p>The Apple was a club, not a theater. He had said it was a show, wasn’t it? Wasn’t 11 a bit late for a play? Although alcohol <em> had </em>been mentioned, too. Perhaps it was some sort of musical artist show. He thought on it briefly as he submitted his report, turned off the lights, and gathered his things. Just before locking his door, a final thought tumbled out. </p><p>Why was he meant to bring newspaper?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * * </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the four days leading up to the event, Aziraphale found more and more to be odd about the situation than simply the time or the venue or the newspaper request. The invitation itself was odd, wasn’t it? As was his acceptance of it. There were plenty of ways he could get to know his staff. He’d already started a book club with Anathema and Tracy. Surely he could take the others to lunch or they could meet elsewhere, perhaps at an event that <em> didn’t </em>start at 11 PM. </p><p>The fact was, he’d agreed because Crowley had invited him. Because he was suspect that he was beginning to fancy him, and wanted to know who he was so he might determine if he <em> should </em>fancy him. If it was safe to.</p><p>Aziraphale was forty-five and no stranger to romance, and as lacking in confidence and wavering as he was when it came to opinions of who he should be and what he needed, he’d always been astute at accessing the needs of others. He was even more excellent at fulfilling them. Every partner he’d ever had loved that about him at first. They’d loved the reliability and safety and comfort of it. They’d begged him to fulfill their needs. But with it came the struggle of the unhealthy wants that made fulfilling the needs impossible. </p><p>A boyfriend might have needed bolstering and attention in the bedroom but have an unhealthy want for violence and diminishment instead. Need an atmosphere to foster self-betterment and mutual respect yet want to flash the status and wealth of dating a doctor. Need someone to hold them down but want to flutter about to any other man who showed interest. The needs were only wanted at the expense of enabling the unhealthy desires- a contradictory and impossible task. Aziraphale had found himself broken-hearted and jilted more times than he could count. It hurt to watch someone destroy themself, and he could no longer bear the unrealistic burden of fixing. Human beings could be treated, sewn up, given medication and therapy to heal, but there was no ‘fixing’. Not really. </p><p>Upon arriving at the agreed upon location, Aziraphale was absolutely certain he’d misheard Crowley. There was indeed a show, but the doctor hadn’t the faintest clue what kind. He didn’t have the nurse’s number, and if he hadn’t seen the back of bright red-orange hair indicating Madame Tracy, he might not have ventured further than the door. </p><p>Doubt struck him all over again when, at the doorway, he was met with a man dressed in fishnet tights, lingerie, lipstick, and ridiculously high platform heels. It wasn’t the oddest thing he’d ever seen as a resident of Soho, but he still wondered what on earth that devious nurse had gotten him into. The doorman (lady? He was unsure what the appropriate title or pronouns were in this instance) did nothing to aid his confusion, instead schmoozing “oh! What a dapper guest, how tasty!” with a wink, praising him for bringing newspaper (“This London weather, so unpredictable!”), and asking him if he was a virgin. </p><p>Aziraphale fixed the person with a blank look, offering a series of empty blinks for a moment before managing out an, “I… beg your pardon?” </p><p>While feeling his reaction was really quite fair, he couldn’t help but blush at the hearty laughter it incited. The staff member was quick to explain they were asking if he had attended the show before. After answering honestly, he politely turned down the offer of having something written on his forehead in lipstick. </p><p>At least now he knew what he was attending. A Rocky Horror Picture Show Shadow Cast. He’d been curious, been invited, even, but never managed to make it to a showing. He’d seen the movie itself, of course, as he <em> had, </em>at one time, been a gay teenager. From what he heard this was an entirely new experience altogether.</p><p>At first glance, he was certainly intrigued. The crowd spanned a variety of ages, from teenagers to old-timers. They sported all manner of flashy clothing or make-up. Despite the stark difference from their usual uniforms, he managed to find the staff, dressed in an assortment of short shorts, fishnets, leather, wild hats, and snakeskin. He felt rather overdressed, but that suited him just fine.</p><p>“Dr. Fell!” Adam called out, rushing away from that ECA- Warlock, was it? Anathema, Newton, and Madame Tracy turned when they heard his name, calling him over to join the group.</p><p>All at once, he was bombarded with hearty and excited greetings and slaps on the back. </p><p>“Didn’t think you’d come!” Anathema confided, although her smile said she was very much glad he did. While her tortoiseshell glasses made it take a moment to identify, clocking her 80’s hairstyle and pink dress revealed her to be Janet. With Newt’s shy approach to her side, Aziraphale realized he was meant to be her Brad. Well, Brad with at least 12 lipstick ‘V’s and even more kiss marks slapped on his face. It made sense enough, the two <em> had </em>been chatting quite a bit between ambulance runs. </p><p>“Yes, well I-” </p><p>“Ohhh! And you brought newspaper! Lovely! Thank you, pet!” Tracy cut him off to coo, unburdening him and taking the tidy stack over to a collection of other obscure items. </p><p>“I- well, yes, I did-” </p><p>“Shots? Shots! You lot sit tight!” Warlock cheered while running after a server who seemed dead-set on dutifully ignoring him.</p><p>“Oh my- isn’t it a bit-” </p><p>“So you’ve been before? Are me and Newt the only ones havin’ to walk around lookin’ stupid?” Adam pouted. Aziraphale raised his brows and stifled a laugh when finding not only a lipstick ‘V’ on his forehead, but also the word ‘Twink’ trailing down one cheek and a kiss mark on the other. </p><p>“Isn’t that always there?” Warlock said, reappearing at Aziraphale’s side sans-drinks. </p><p>“Oh shove off!” Adam laughed, delivering a harmless push to the other boy’s shoulder, “What happened to drinks?”</p><p>“Not his fault, if avoiding patrons was a sport, the staff here would be Olympic-tier professionals,” Newt joked weakly, looking a bit more confident when Anathema gave it a louder laugh than it deserved. </p><p>Aziraphale smiled, but in truth felt quite lost amongst all the obvious familiarity. Any newcomer would identify this was not any manner of first gathering. The dynamic was so much more light-hearted and easy-going than the one at work. In a way it served as a relief but in another it revealed  a comfortable repartee Aziraphale hadn’t the faintest idea how to engage in. So instead he surveyed his surroundings and found every square foot packed with gaudy, care-free, liberated joy. He attempted to imagine Crowley in this setting. It resulted in his brain falling onto a 404 error.</p><p>“So who do we have to thank for our lovely gathering here?” he finally chimed in after remembering that the whole point of being invited was so he might socialize.</p><p>“Oh, it’s all sweet Crowley’s idea. He does always come up with the most splendid outings,” Madame Tracy cooed. </p><p>While knowing very well that she was a kind woman, Aziraphale was a bit surprised at the modifier meant to reference the nurse. He looked around again. There was nothing to take charge of, here. No details to attend to. No one to hound. The doubt must have appeared on his face, and if not, it was clear in his tone as he responded hesitantly, “Really? He planned this?”</p><p>A wicked grin he didn’t understand crossed the sweet lady’s face, and she nudged Anathema with her arm, “First time meeting our fierce leader out of hospital, dear?” </p><p>“Oh- er. Well, we’ve had lunch break together, but beside that, I suppose it is, yes.” </p><p>It was Anathema’s turn to host a mysterious smile, “Well aren’t you in for a surprise. This certainly is different than any lunch break you might have had. Buckle up. You might get whiplash.” </p><p>Aziraphale hardly had time to wonder what that could possibly mean before his entire group erupted into joyous cheers of greeting, and from behind him a very familiar voice cheered in an entirely <em> un </em>familiar timbre, “Well, well, well! If it isn’t the best looking lot in London!” </p><p>Anathema and Tracy shuffled past him, and he turned to find them leaning up to give Anthony kisses on the cheek and quick (but squeezing) embraces. The act of intimacy with the typically-cold character was enough to break his brain alone. Then he took in the vision of the man himself. </p><p>And Lord, was it a vision. </p><p>The only dark red Crowley donned today managed to be the farthest thing from practical scrubs, instead taking form in the shape of skin-tight leather trousers. Black snake-skin heeled boots encased his feet, and Aziraphale’s gaze was momentarily unable to stray from the flash of exposed stomach below the black, long-sleeved, mesh-paneled crop top that spelled out “Worst Behavior” in white blocked letters. </p><p>Then a hand was on his arm, and he looked down at the long, thin hand resting on his bicep. It looked so pretty and delicate, with the shiny black lacquer glossing its fingernails. </p><p>Then he heard that voice again, and realized it was Crowley’s hand. Crowley’s voice. Crowley was speaking to him. He looked up at the freckled face, and his brain, a flickering static hosting a spinning wheel before, now completed its failure into a blue screen. </p><p>The sunglasses were on, but his hair was pushed back with a black tie headband. Framed flawlessly with deep-crimson painted lips was a smile so bright Aziraphale silently prayed it wouldn’t blind him, as he’d very much like the rest of the night to appreciate the blessing of the beauty before him. He’d never seen Crowley host a smile like that- so vulnerable and pure. He was quite sure he’d be chasing the rush of witnessing it for the rest of his life. </p><p>Then he realized that not only was he staring, but that Crowley appeared to be preening gleefully over it. </p><p>“That- pardon, dear boy, I missed that,” he finally managed out. </p><p>“I said I can’t believe you came!” Crowley laughed, “Or stayed, for that matter. Pick one!” </p><p>“Didn’t I tell you I would?” Aziraphale pretended to be affronted, immediately finding Crowley’s presence, however abnormal, coaxing him into a much more comfortable place. </p><p>“Yeahhhh, well,” Crowley raised a shoulder, the neckline on the opposite side sliding down to reveal a tantalizing display of sharp collarbone, “Told you I distrust authority. It’s an unlearning process, angel.” </p><p>“And what have you learned instead?” Aziraphale humored him, forcing himself to look back up at Crowley’s face. For lack of eyes to land on, he fixated on those pretty painted lips without a lick of shame. Although the nickname was two weeks old by now, it still made his heart flutter upon hearing. He wondered, if Crowley could hear how lewd the thoughts racing through his head were, if he’d still think him so angelic.</p><p>That threw Crowley off guard. Even in the dim lighting, a hue of pink crept onto his face. Instead of grumbling and withdrawing as he did at work, he preened again, shifting next to Aziraphale at the high-top and leaning against it. He dipped close, clearly testing the boundaries of how close the doctor would allow him to get. He looked quite pleased when the blonde didn’t retreat. “Well, that at the <em> very </em>least, you’re a good sport.” </p><p>“I like to think so,” Aziraphale laughed, “I’m just glad to be invited.” </p><p>And then there was that earnest, soft wash of warm pride over Crowley’s face, the one he always displayed when pleasing Aziraphale. Except for this time it was amplified by one hundred, and Aziraphale tried to hush the hammering of his heart. He wondered if Crowley was aware of how vulnerable he was being. Did he know that not only were his doors unlocked, but they were flapping carelessly open in the wind? </p><p>“No drinks yet?” Crowley complained, turning to Anathema with a devilish grin, “What, you lot waited for me? How <em> thoughtful.” </em></p><p>“The staff are ignoring us!” Warlock complained. </p><p>“Awh, c’mon kid, don’t get disheartened. Just gadda play the right cards,” the redhead comforted, delivering a friendly slap to the dark-haired boy’s shoulder before making his way just past him. </p><p>Aziraphale might have mourned the loss of their proximity, but found himself freshly blessed with a whole new image, one that composed of the freckled small of Crowley’s back and the silhouette of a pert ass that only could have gotten into pants that tight with the help of a miracle. </p><p>“Oy! Veronica! You do something new with your makeup? Give a bloke a warning before you steal his heart lookin’ that beautiful! That brow game? Satan help me.” </p><p>“Oh, Crowley you devil,” chided the recipient of his flirtation, grinning and swinging her braids around to her other shoulder, “sweet talk won’t get you any special treatment!” </p><p>Crowley made a show of being greatly wounded, “C’mon now, love, would I ask you to act different just for me? Who am I to mess with perfection.”</p><p>“Sure, sure,” she said, as if she was unaffected despite her bright smile and flirting nudge against him while passing. The tall redhead grinned, hips swaying as he returned to the group. </p><p>“So? Where are the drinks?” Warlock huffed, as if he’d proven a point. A red brow cocked at him, followed by a toothy smile, and Aziraphale marveled at the fact that Warlock would have been eaten alive were he to show such an attitude at work. </p><p>“Wait five minutes.” </p><p>“Shocked you showed up stag, Crowley! Where’s the love of your life?” </p><p>“Ohh, some poor sod got hit by a car. Got called in. They were pissed. We were just out the door with them fully dressed as Dr. Frank-N-Furter. Imagine the comfort it instills to see <em> that’s </em>gonna be your surgeon.” </p><p>The table erupted into laughter, except Aziraphale, who’s mouth dropped open and then snapped shut. He looked down at his hands, wishing there was a drink to pretend to focus on. Thought after thought wracked through his brain, and he felt quite the fool. How many signs had there been, so obvious, that he’d missed? The pair were inseparable. Of course they were together. Well, at least now he didn’t need to worry about protecting himself. The table moved onto other discussion, and Crowley nudged Aziraphale’s elbow with his own. </p><p>“Where’d yah go? Alright?” </p><p>“Yees! Perfectly fine- more than fine. Tickety-boo, even” he rushed to assure. Crowley didn’t look convinced, but did cede a grin at the ridiculous speech. “So, how- um- have you been with Dr. Bealz long?” </p><p>“Oh yeah, ages,” Crowley waved a hand dismissively, but something must have revealed itself in Aziraphale’s face, because suddenly the most anxious vigor took over Crowley’s and his collected exterior fell to shambles as he urged, “But not like- we’re not! They aren’t- You don’t- It’s- it’s not romantic or anything- I mean- we’re partners but not like- not like married or a couple or- like i said! Separate places! No romance, no uh- uh- fuck-” </p><p>Aziraphale took the chance to regain his footing, raising his brow and watching Crowley’s stuttering dissolve into more and more embarrassed pouting. He could have offered mercy, but the whole ordeal of the redhead feeling so duty-bound to assuring the blonde that he was single was far too endearing not to enjoy. </p><p>The delivery of an excessive number of shots spared him from further shame, and Crowley leapt at the chance to explain the ‘rules’ of staff outings. Firstly, no hospital talk. Adam commented with an extra bit of cheek that Crowley was the worst at following that one, even though he’d been the one who insisted on the rule to begin with. Secondly, no inviting non-coworkers. Anathema pondered aloud why they bothered when there was nowhere they could go that Crowley or Bealz or both wouldn’t be recognized (Crowley was quick to point out the discrepancy between that and <em> inviting </em> them). Lastly, no titles or surnames- except for Crowley, who was always ‘Crowley’. Punishment for any rule-breaking resulted in taking a shot.</p><p>“In which case, we need to know what the ‘A’ stands for at the very least, Dr. A.Z. Fell.” </p><p>“Oh! Of course, dear girl,” Aziraphale perked up, flashing a smile, “Aziraphale Zussya Fell.” </p><p>“Now that’s a <em> name,” </em>Warlock chortled, huffing a ‘woof’.</p><p>“Wait-,” Crowley started, “Aziraphale?” </p><p>“Yes, that’s right.”</p><p>The corner of the nurse’s mouth twitched between a smile of disbelief and a serious look, “You’ve been letting me call you by the wrong name for… what, a month now?” </p><p>The blonde raised his brows and tilted his head in consideration before grinning, “Well when you say it like <em> that… </em>“ </p><p>Crowley laughed, such a lovely, care-free sound that Aziraphale was now committed to that, too. The way it was shaping up, it seemed he was just as eager to make the slender man happy as the other was for him. </p><p>“I owe you a drink at the very least, what’s your poison?” </p><p>The several remaining minutes leading up to the show proved very educational, and through the doors Crowley had opened, the truth he’d been stifling poured out. He learned Crowley loved to dance, and according to his friends, was wretched at it. He didn’t let this bother him, as dance was about expression, wasn’t it? The group couldn’t deny he was certainly expressive. He noticed the moment someone could be so much as suspected of feeling isolated, Crowley would drag them back into conversation. He would make them smile, or laugh, and they’d be back in the group in a snap. </p><p>While he was a different person outside of work, Crowley was just as invested in his job outside it, and was charged for violating the ‘hospital talk’ rule three times in the hour before the show. He was almost like an older sibling to the younger staff, and was just as quick to teach as he was to tease. He was protective of vulnerable people, and at once point walked away mid-conversation to chase an older man away from a group of teenage girls. He had unbridled enthusiasm when passionate about something, and was eager to ramble about all the interests Aziraphale asked about from classic rock to harmless acts of mischief and anarchy. The blonde didn’t dare cut him off and couldn’t imagine growing tired of witnessing his excitement.</p><p>He was sweet. He was funny. He was clever and thoughtful. The only flaw Aziraphale could find was that he put absolutely every person, down to strangers, before himself. That was a need he could meet. What wants were lurking to foil it? </p><p>Soon enough the show began, and the first song had hardly begun before the crowd, in perfect synchrony, shouted prepared phrases back at the screen. Aziraphale was jarred to find that some lines were entirely replaced by a voice over microphone. The first song ended, and actors appeared on stage beneath the projection. At last the doctor learned what the assortment of items were for, as the emergence of the wedding scene brought the throwing of rice with it. Horribly messy, he thought. Unsanitary too, didn’t it attract pests? But then a bag of rice was extended in front of him with a coaxing shake, and he turned his head to find Crowley with that unrelenting smile back again. This time, his sunglasses were pushed onto his head to accommodate the darkness and his eyes were in plain view, filled with pure happiness and delight and reminding Aziraphale of warm vats of fresh honey. His heart melted. </p><p>To hell with it. The rice was thrown. </p><p>Before he could stop him, Crowley was off again, refreshing everyone’s drinks. </p><p>Aziraphale found the callbacks delightful, and couldn’t help but laugh alongside Newt and Adam, particularly with the unrelenting accusation of Brad being an asshole. </p><p>“Were the callbacks different in Brighton?” </p><p>He turned to find Tracy smiling warmly at him, and smiled back, shaking his head.</p><p>“I’m not entirely sure!” he half-shouted back, “I’ve never been!” </p><p>She looked scandalized, and elbowed Anathema, turning away to presumably repeat the sentiment. When Crowley returned, distributing everyone’s respective drinks and encouraging the boys to perhaps slow it down a notch (“You’ll be halfway over the bloody moon by intermission if you try to keep up with us old-timers!”), Anathema shouted over at him, tattling without a glimmer of shame. </p><p>“Aziraphale’s a Shadow Cast Virgin!” </p><p>Crowley’s jaw dropped at the blonde, and his hand fluttered to his chest in a show of deep offense. </p><p>“And here I thought you were a good sport! Goin’ around unmarked, playin’ dirty, that’s not very angelic of you, angel!” </p><p>Aziraphale laughed, raising his hands in admission, “Yes well, a bit old to have lipstick writing on my face, I think.” </p><p>Crowley pouted, but the wheels in his brain continued turning until a devious grin commandeered his features, “How about a kiss mark? ‘S that grown up enough for you?” </p><p>The doctor felt a grin coming on, and figured if it would keep the redhead smiling, he’d allow him to chase down a staff member to kiss him on the cheek. That wouldn’t be too much to bare, surely.. </p><p>Before he could answer, the newspaper was distributed, and without enough for everyone to have one, Crowley forfeited his to a stranger with a dismissive, “don’t thank me”. </p><p>The blonde attempted to offer his, but Crowley refused, insisting he would <em> not </em>allow his first-timer experience to be cheated. Aziraphale smiled and opened the newspaper in preparation, laughing as some surrounding bodies prepared toy water-guns. He leaned to Crowley. “You know, I think I could bear it, if it’s truly so important to the experience.” </p><p>It was worth it for the way Anthony’s smile lit up the world. He expected as much. He didn’t, however, expect a gentle hand to cradle the base of his skull. He didn’t expect Crowley’s face to come so close to his. He didn’t expect him to smell like cedarwood and lavender and more fresh garden herbs than he could single out. He didn’t expect his soft, mindful lips to press firmly against his cheek. Then it was all gone too soon- the touch, the scent, the softness, and he was left shellshocked, gaping at a very pleased Crowley. The man appraised him before smiling in approval.</p><p>“Much better. Now you look like you belong.” </p><p>He looked forward at the screen, leaving Aziraphale to stare at his profile. Then pitiful little streams of water were spraying, the scene on stage was of a catastrophic storm, and the audience pulled newspaper over their heads alongside the characters on screen and the actors on stage. Aziraphale slowly followed suit, although his eyes remained fixated on the silhouette of that lovely hooked nose, of the slight smile on those painted lips and the way the light of the screen danced on amber eyes like the flicker of blue and white flames. </p><p>Crowley looked up in confusion at the feeling of something atop his head, and did a double take to find Aziraphale sharing his newspaper. The so-called angel smiled as he watched that lovely pink hue return to the pointed face. Some miserable failure of an attempt was made on Crowley’s part to hide a smitten smile and feign ignorance, but that would certainly contradict the manner in which he hovered closer. He took the other side of the paper from Aziraphale, and his chest pressed against the other man. His frame was so thin, and the blonde felt a flurry of fondness overcome him as he felt a racing heartbeat from where his shoulder met Crowley’s body. That completed the scene, he thought. That was the thunder, shaking him to his core and leaving him running to the closest dilapidated castle alongside Janet and Brad. </p><p>The show went on, more props were used, more offensive retorts screamed at the screen. Crowley performed them with much more investment now knowing Aziraphale hadn’t heard them before, and the doctor couldn’t help but humor him with hearty, genuine laughs. Despite his staunch insistence that he really didn’t dance, he found an army of nurses dragging him to the center of the room to dance along to the time warp. During the tap-dancing segment, room was made for the actress of Magnolia in the center of the floor, but everyone continued to dance free-style in their own corners. Aziraphale had to agree that his taller companion was a wretched dancer, but there was something to be said for his expression and dedication. </p><p>Somewhere midway through the performance, he felt the crowd surge in closer. The room was becoming a bit too hot for his liking. A bit too suffocating, and before he could react, he was being pulled through the crowd, and found himself on a busy Soho street beside Crowley. </p><p>There was something special about Soho at 1:30. The lights bouncing off the wet streets. The diversity and color of the people roaming its pavement. The smell of late-night restaurants and cacophony of different music thrumming from different venues. Crowley let out a contented sigh, smiling at Aziraphale. </p><p>“Figured I’d spare you from being a chosen victim of virgin sacrifices. Device would have called you out in two seconds flat,” he sighed. </p><p>“Oi, mate! Cool contacts!” exclaimed a drunken man staggering past. </p><p>When Aziraphale looked back, the glasses were back in place, and Crolwey had taken an immense interest in the toes of his shoes. There was some damage done there. The dangers of open doors, he supposed.</p><p>“Well, I’m certainly grateful for that,” Aziraphale attempted to spare him inquiries and move forth with the conversation. </p><p>“Having a good time then?” </p><p>“Yes, it’s really been quite fun. It’s very interesting to get to know everyone outside work.” </p><p>Crowley looked up, that pleased expression on his face, and rubbed an arm, “Yeah? Glad to hear it. FIgures it gives some insight when you’re running things, eh?”</p><p>“It does indeed, although I must say the character difference that surprises me the most is yours.” </p><p>Surprise crossed the slender man’s face, and then his chest shook with an embarrassed laugh. He reached up to scratch the back of his head. “Yeah, well. That’s thanks to years of therapy. Compartmentalization and all that, helps me keep it from falling apart.” </p><p>Aziraphale opened his mouth to ask if by ‘it’, he meant ‘himself’, but closed it again. He could tell by the waver in his voice and the slouch of his posture that while he wouldn’t resist prying, it was a fragile topic. </p><p>“How about you, dear boy?” he volunteered instead. </p><p>“What’d’ya mean?” </p><p>“Are you having a good time?”</p><p>Crowley bit his lip. This had been newer in the last couple weeks; while he’d been eager to please, he’d been just as anxious about displeasing. “Of course! Yeah, grand ol’ time an’ all that. Why wouldn’t I be?”</p><p>“Oh, it’s just that I’ve noticed you running about so relentlessly, tending to everybody else. Don’t misunderstand, I find it all very selfless.” </p><p>The nurse’s shoulders slumped down in relief, and he arranged himself sprawled back on a windowsill of the building. He laughed softly, “Well, some things are harder to compartmentalize. Bit reckless about it.” </p><p>“Reckless about… being selfless?” Aziraphale attempted to follow. Crowley shifted his position, turning his face the opposite way and forcing himself to square his shoulders.</p><p>“Weeeeeeell, I wouldn’t say that. ‘S just. All part of anarchy, isn’ it? Man’s always trying to get us to keep to ourselves, stay in our lane, look the other way when the creeper gets near underage girls, reject sharing so they can sell more products. It’s not that I’m… y’know, nice, or anything. Just. A big ‘fuck you’ to oppressive social systems and capitalism and corruption.” </p><p>“Is that right?” the doctor teased, looking fairly amused at the half-assed attempt of dismissing Crowley’s prior admission of problematic selflessness.</p><p>“Dunno. Somethin’ like that,” Crowley shrugged half-heartedly. Two whiskey sours and 5 shots weakened whatever shoddy defenses he’d typically put up. A hand reached back to wrestle a crumpled box of cigarettes out of his back pocket. He flipped the lid back with a thumb and extended it to Azirpahale, “Smoke?”</p><p>“Those things will kill you, you ought not to smoke them,” Aziraphale chided, pursing his lips.</p><p>“Lots of things could kill me. That’s a no then?” Crowley grinned devilishly. </p><p>Without hesitation, the blonde plucked the box from his fingers, making a show of closing it and chucking it into the nearest bin. </p><p>The most innocent, thin-lipped smile he could manage crossed his face. “That’s a no.”</p><p>Crowley gaped at him, brows raised, though somehow still fighting a smile. At last he scoffed, then laughed, then looked around himself, shouting out loud, “Did- did anybody see that? No? No. Of course not.” </p><p>Upon turning back to face Aziraphale, he was met with a patient, shameless expression and a polite smile. </p><p>He laughed again, hand splayed over his heart, “You’re a bossy little bugger, you know that?” </p><p>“Oh come, now. I hardly think I’m ‘bossy’. I simply… know when and where to draw lines.” </p><p>“Riiiiiiiiight, right. ‘Course. ‘N do you take the liberty to ‘draw lines’ for everybody?” </p><p>“No. Just those who are recklessly selfless and fail to draw lines for themselves.” </p><p>Crowley choked, on what Aziraphale didn’t know, and his face turned a bright pink. The inkling of a suspicion that perhaps the redhead’s wants very much mirrored his needs crept into Aziraphale’s heart.</p><p>The subject was quickly changed to one of their patients a couple days prior, and the doctor reminded him that he owed a shot now- two actually; he earlier referenced Anathema as ‘Device’. The diplomacy allowed the redhead a chance to regain his suave footing, and he flashed a toothy grin. </p><p>“And what, you’re going to make me drink alone?” </p><p>“Of course not, I <em> am </em>a gentleman,” Azira reassured him with a smile back. </p><p>The pair strode back inside together, catching the tail end of a beet-red Newton Pulsifer at the end of a row containing nine other ‘virgins’. The older woman currently holding the microphone was making a series of absolutely obscene noises. </p><p>“What on <em> earth </em>are they doing?” he asked with a bewildered expression.</p><p>“Virgin sacrifice. Different every time. Guess this time it’s- sex noises? I can’t tell, poor woman sounds like a wounded animal.” Crowley was absolutely enthralled, practically bouncing in anticipation of Newt’s turn. “Oh fuck this is going to be funny.”</p><p>Aziraphale burst out laughing and shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all. “Right, you watch, then, and I’ll get the drinks. What would you like, my dear?” </p><p>Crowley looked over at him in surprise, a flush coloring his face in contrast against the blue overhead light. A sheepish, grateful smile followed. “Oh uh, if you’re sure. Two tequila shots and an old-fashioned. Just put it on the group tab.” </p><p>“A drink, too? Don’t you think you should slow down?” </p><p>“Oh, no you don’t! No line-drawin’ for this matter, angel! ‘Sides, don’t I deserve it? All work and no play makes Jack a <em> dull </em>boy,” he reminded, grin growing toothy. </p><p>“Indeed, I hardly know a soul who works harder than you. Quite admirable, really.” </p><p>A full-fledged blush and that wholesome, vulnerable smile was his reward for honesty, and Crowley attempted to shove his hands in his too-tight pockets while stammering over some mixture of thanks and explanation that he’d meet him at the table. Oh, he did like praise, didn’t he? </p><p>Aziraphale edged in at the end of the bar, fully expecting to wait, but the handsome, dark-haired bar-tender did a double take over his shoulder, quickly making his way over despite the neglected patrons shouting at him. “Well hey there, Daddy, you’re a new face. You work at the hospital, too?” </p><p>The blonde didn’t react with any trace of embarrassment. He’d been in the community far too long to blink twice at the moniker. He was aware of the assumptions made with his presentation. “That I do. I’m a physician, although I do believe discussing it is breaking some kind of rule.” </p><p>“I won’t tell if you don’t,” the man winked, shamelessly sizing the doctor up and biting his lip, “So what will it be?” </p><p>“Two old-fashioneds and two tequila shots, but- would you mind cutting the shots?” </p><p>“Ah, Crowley convinced he can drink his weight in shots again?” </p><p>“That he is,” Aziraphale sighed with a thankful grin. The bartender nodded, and when he returned with the drinks, the blonde leaned in again to shout over the newly revived music, “Thank you, dear boy!” </p><p>“Thank <em> you,” </em>the man responded with a flirtatious grin, and it wasn’t until Aziraphale returned to the table with the haul that he realized a number was written on one of the napkins. He flipped it face-down just before Crowley turned and bounced over to him. The redhead wasted no time in snatching up the shot-glasses and downing both shots at once. The blonde raised his brows. Certainly, he’d seen that trick in videos, but he’d never have expected it of a middle aged Head Nurse. Then again, Crowley really didn’t fit that mold anyway with his pierced ears and his face tattoo and his wild nightlife. </p><p>The second act was even more exciting than the first, and Aziraphale found that with the pleasant buzzing of alcohol in his head, he was much more amenable to taking part in the audience participation. Crowley disappeared now and again. At one point Warlock dragged him back from taking care of a drunk man throwing up in an alleyway. At another, Anathema pried him away from comforting a crying girl in the woman’s bathroom, explaining to the rest of the girls gathered there that they did <em> not </em>want him doing their makeup, no matter how good his looked.</p><p>For the most part, however,  he stuck around, his speech more slurred and his movement impossibly more languid. Aziraphale discovered Crowley was quite fond of touch, and would lean in to hang off his shoulder or press on his chest when excited and exclaim, “Ohhhh this part! Watchin’ yeah? Jus- Jus’ listen! ‘S brilliant!” </p><p>Despite the tequila and the whiskey, he still smelled so good. His hands were so gentle even as they tugged and pushed. Along with the light-headed euphoria of drunkenness, Aziraphale found his thoughts bleeding through their regimented borders. He tried his best to remind himself that Crowley was drunk. That he might be hanging over anyone closest or assume he was just being friendly. He tried to remind himself that all that pretty smooth skin exposed on his slender torso and long neck was not an invitation, and how lecherous of him, anyway, to want to use Crowley’s lapse in personal space in moments of pure, precious excitement and delight as an excuse to touch back. </p><p>And oh he <em> was </em>so sweet, so unguarded and happy. Aziraphale was struggling to find any fault at all. In fact, he was still attempting to put his thumb on what it was Crowley needed, what he wanted, how he might use and hurt him, what ways he expected a white knight to fix him. He needed to find it fast, because as it stood, he was falling much faster. Every unbridled smile, every hearty laugh, every cheeky joke, every slip into that Glasgow brogue had him losing his footing more and more, and he was tempted to let go and let himself spiral down into no return. </p><p>How ironic, that Crowley’s temptations would be strongest when he wasn’t even trying. </p><p>With a grand finale that had the audience throwing playing cards into the air, Aziraphale, in his own inebriation,  started in on a long-winded lecture about its wastefulness and how it could certainly be a safety hazard. Crowley went on an equally lengthy spiel making fun of him for it, although it was hardly intelligible through the giggle-fit he was having, and he was so incoherent and animated that the blonde couldn’t even pretend to be offended. Instead he grinned, his gaze unabashedly smitten. The group swayed through the end of ‘I’m going home’ arm-in-arm. Afterwards they gave the shadow cast an enthusiastic ovation in which Crowley and Warlock shouted as if watching a football match. </p><p>Aziraphale settled the bill against everyone’s overly-performative yet transparently delighted insistence that he didn’t have to. The cast of the show invited everyone to a pub down the street. Crowley insisted he was ready for round two. </p><p>“Can you even walk?” Anathema laughed.</p><p>“Can- can- can <em> you </em>even- even- wha was it?” </p><p>“Walk?”</p><p>“Walk,” he repeated, mocking her American accent. </p><p>She gave a hearty laugh, shaking her head, “Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” </p><p>Crowley pouted- actually pouted, and huffed, “Don’t <em> you? </em> It’s nae fair I’m the only one missin’ all the fun!” </p><p>Aziraphale decided it was perhaps time for him to aid in Anathema’s endeavor, and spoke up, “Actually, I’m working as well. Thought I’d turn in. It is nearly three, after all.” </p><p>“Bahh, fine,” Crowley grumbled at Anathema, sticking his tongue out of her, “At least go grab me a bonailie while I get an uber!” </p><p>Anathema stared at him blankly, having absolutely no idea what it was he was requesting. He pulled out his phone, staring at the black screen for a prolonged time. </p><p>“Er, dear boy, I think your screen needs to be on for you to do so.” </p><p>“Oh,” Crowley said, waking up his phone screen and then staring again. </p><p>Aziraphale couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, and the redhead looked at him with the most clueless expression.</p><p>“I cannae remember my password.” </p><p>Lord, but he was adorable. As much as Aziraphale was enjoying drunk Crowley, Anathema was right. He could hardly walk. He couldn’t operate a phone. The doctor could not in good conscience let him meander home alone. So he nodded towards the door and offered, “Why don’t we share a cab?” </p><p>“Oh, you- you’re- wh- where do-?” Crowley stammered before finally landing on, “Southwark. That’s me. Where I live. I mean.” </p><p>“No worries, my dear, it’s not too far out of the way,” Aziraphale lied with a sweet smile, figuring it wouldn’t do to mention he lived only a few blocks away from here. A trip in a cab was of no consequence if it meant getting Crowley home safely. </p><p>The group made their way outside, Crowley forgetting all about his parting drink, and they shouted their goodbyes as Aziraphale hailed a taxi. He stood there, arm fixed firmly around the nurse’s slender waist, and tried not to think of how the slim stomach beneath his hand might quiver if he teased his fingertips over the exposed flesh. </p><p>It wasn’t until he loaded Crowley into the backseat, slid in next to him, shut the door, and turned to find revealed, dazed, beautiful golden galaxies marveling at him that he realized he was now alone and inebriated in a confined space with the most appetizing incarnation of forbidden fruit imaginable. He made a quick prayer to Hashem for strength and hoped it was heard.</p><p>He’d certainly need it. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>"If it's split into two parts, shouldn't they be shorter?"<br/>Maybe, but they aren't :3 </p><p>Sorry for how long it's been!~ here's part 1, I'm nearly done with part two, and I'm VERY excited to share it! Also, I know virgin sacrifices are usually at the BEGINNING of Rocky Horror shadow casts, but decided to move them to intermission so our boys could get some alone time before Crowley got completely sloshed lol. </p><p>Thank you guys SO MUCH for all the comments ;o; they really encourage me to keep it coming.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Staff Bonding Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Where to?” </p><p>“Just a moment, if you would. Feel free to start the meter,”  Aziraphale told the driver, anticipating a complaint about wasting time simply by the tetchiness in his voice. “Crowley, seat belt, if you would.” </p><p>“Ppppfftch,” Crowley sputtered as he collapsed against the inside of the back passenger door, “Fuck seat belts.” </p><p>“Don’t tell me those are a conspiracy, too?” </p><p>“‘S a rule. Fuck rules.” </p><p>Clearly, Crowley had no intention of making this easy. Aziraphale wracked his brain for a way to handle it, and settled on a theory. It’d be easy enough to test. </p><p>He pursed his lips, looking out the window and heaving a sigh, “Here I had my hopes up you’d take care of yourself and be safe. How disappointing.” </p><p>“Wait wait wait I’ll-,” Crowley rushed before wrestling with his seat belt, “ugh. I’m <em> trying.”  </em></p><p>Oh my, but that was a powerful trick, and the connotations that came with it inspired a thrill in Aziraphale’s chest. He appeared pleased as he leaned over, taking the end of the belt and helping Crowley find the buckle. He nearly chastised the slender figure again for loosening the strap in his fist and sprawling out, but after giving it another thought, he decided to take the victory.</p><p>“What’s your street, dear boy?” </p><p>“Ohya,” the redhead mumbled, as if only just realizing the purpose of sitting in the back of a cab, and called up to the driver, “Southwark, Commercial and Summer. Ta.” </p><p>The moment the car started moving, Crowley nuzzled against the window as if preparing to take a long nap.</p><p>“Look alive, dear boy, it’s not too long a drive,” Aziraphale called gently, only having the heart to keep him awake because he knew he wouldn't be able to bear waking him.</p><p>“Mmmmmmn,” Crowley whined, twisting so his back was against the door and pressing on Aziraphale’s calf with the toe of his shoe, “Hard to stay awake. Ask me things.” </p><p>“What kind of things?” the blonde responded with a small, warm smile. Crowley smiled back fondly, playing with the glasses in his hands. </p><p>“Whatever you want to know.” </p><p>It was the most vulnerable offer he’d made yet, and Aziraphale was mindful not to take advantage of the trust that came with it. Perhaps he should start off simple.</p><p>“Does your face tattoo have any meaning?”</p><p>“Yes, means I have shit impulse control,” Crowley snorted, “Figured I’d keep it as a reminder to learn better control in the future.”</p><p>“Has it worked?”</p><p>“Fuck no,” the redhead barked a laugh, rolling his head over the back of the seat to grin at Aziraphale, “Just last week I got shitfaced and tried to unlatch a pair of horses from their carriage while yelling ‘be free!’”</p><p>“You <em> did not!”  </em></p><p>“Did too, driver wised up and I ran away with a horse whip to the arse.” </p><p>Aziraphale gaped at him in disbelief, causing Crowley to fall to pieces all over again. He smiled, watching him settle down before pondering the next question to ask. </p><p>“When did you make the move from Scotland?” </p><p>Crowley stared at him blankly, “Y’know, seems a good time to ask, ‘cause I’ve had my suspicions- you clairvoyant?”</p><p>“Am I-?” Aziraphale started, hand flying to his chest as he burst into hearty laughter. Crowley smiled and preened in a self-congratulatory manner. Oh, but he really did live to please. How absolutely darling. The doctor shook his head, “No, dear boy. Your accent comes out now and again. Glasgow, isn’t it?”</p><p>Crowley’s brows raised and he let out a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head in awe., “Yeah. Can’t believe I still do that. Fifteen when I came ‘ere. Just a lad.” </p><p>“Do you have family there?” </p><p>The redhead leaned his forehead on the window, looking out at the scenery flying by. </p><p>“No family,” he commented indifferently.</p><p>“In Glasgow, you mean?”</p><p>“None ‘t’all, anywhere, ever, I mean. Surrendered to the state when I was five. Never got adopted. Too… dunno, weird, I guess. Defiant. Difficult,” he shrugged, as if telling an anecdote about being mildly inconvenienced.</p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale said, feeling his heart twist in his chest. The saliva in his throat felt thick and his chest squeezed as he gazed with teary eyes at Crowley’s profile, backlit by flashing city lights. Of course he would dive into the most painful topics in an attempt to avert them. Wasn’t that just the way it was every single time he tried to bond with Crowley? “I’m- I’m so terribly sorry, my dear.” </p><p>“Wha’ for?” Crowley asked cluelessly, swinging his head to throw a confused look at Aziraphale. Guilt flashed across his face when he clocked Aziraphale’s distress, and then urgency as he rushed forward to curl his hand around the thick, pale forearm exposed beneath rolled-up shirt sleeves, gently brushing it up and down.</p><p>“Oh, hey, nonono! S’all right! I don’t mind, really! Old news, am I right?” he laughed gently, golden eyes swimming with sympathy. Here Crowley was sharing about his orphan past and <em> he </em>was the one being comforted. Aziraphale thought he couldn’t feel worse. Then Crowley drawled, as if it would bring him peace of mind, “‘s not all bad, bein’ alone. You get used to it after a while.” </p><p>Aziraphale looked out the window so Crowley might not see the way his face twisted. In turn, he saw a self-diminishing look cross the nurse’s expression in the window, as if he was angry at himself for saying the wrong thing. The blonde cleared his throat, fighting with himself to get it together already and help Crowley feel better. It was his fault he was feeling badly to begin with, after all. </p><p>“How about you?” </p><p>The doctor turned to Crowley, who was sitting halfway crawled over the middle seat, eyes wide and hopeful like a kicked puppy looking for redemption. Aziraphale smiled, catching Crowley’s hand in his and rubbing a pressure point hidden in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. </p><p>Redemption granted. The redhead looked like he might cry of relief. He sighed and closed his eyes, sinking into the seat as the acupoint was tended to. Aziraphale felt a bit of relief just watching. He didn’t have the authority to tend to his needs the way he needed, but he felt glad he could help in some small way. “What about me?”</p><p>“You got a family, don’t you? Bet you have more than one grievance ‘bout it?” Crowley hummed, cracking an eye open to watch him and giving a smirk. </p><p>Aziraphale hesitated, but it appeared Crowley truly did want to hear about it, so he pushed forth, taking Crowley’s other hand and mirroring the pressure.</p><p> “I do. My immediate family is small, but I’m convinced I have a small army’s worth of aunts and uncles and cousins. My dad’s fairly laid back, but my mum-,” he gave a greatly put-upon sigh, “Oy vey. She has the intensity of an atomic bomb.” </p><p>Crowley laughed a bit at that. </p><p>“Sounds like a character,” he hummed, practically melted into the cracked leather seat, now. </p><p>“Quite.” </p><p>“Oy!” Suddenly Crowley sat up, snatching his hands back and leaning into the corner again before narrowing his eyes in playful accusation at Aziraphale, “Are you <em> hypnotizing </em>me, again?” </p><p>“I- what?” Aziraphale said, lips quirking into a smile and eyebrows raising as he gathered an amused understanding of how, exactly, Crowley was perceiving the acupressure, “That wasn’t hypnosis, dear.” </p><p>“That’s exactly what a hypnotist would say, isn’t it?” Crowley accused, waggling his eyebrows comically, “How else would you explain it? Makin’ my brian shut up and go to like… wooooshhhh shhhhhh caw caw! Bloody ocean noises?” </p><p>“Oh my, you must be quite sensitive.” </p><p>Crowley gave such a theatrically affronted gasp that it immediately had Aziraphale in stitches. He narrowed his eyes and sneered flirtatiously, shaking his head “I am <em> not </em>‘sensitive’!” </p><p>“Oh yes, that was quite an impervious reaction you had just now,” Aziraphale laughed. </p><p>Crowley sucked his teeth and shook his head but had a wide grin on his face, “Y’kn-OW, FUCK!” </p><p>“Sorry, mate! Got cut off!” the driver called over his shoulder. </p><p>“‘S fine. ‘M fine,” Crowley grunted through gritted teeth, grasping the place just above his forehead that had smacked into the window frame when the breaks were hit. </p><p>“See there! <em>That</em> would be why you mustn't loosen seat belts!” Aziraphale chided.</p><p>“Glad my pain makes a nice soapbox for you to stand on!” Crowley pouted. </p><p>The blonde arched an eyebrow, and pointed out the window at a plane taking off overhead, “You see that?”</p><p>“Mhmm?” </p><p>“That’s your argument over your lack of sensitivity, flying into nothingness.”</p><p>Crowley barked a laugh and swatted at him with his free hand, gaping at him and scoffing, <em> “You </em> are a <em> right bastard, </em>you know that?” </p><p>Aziraphale laughed with him, ignoring the fact that the driver was likely irritated with the erratic drunks in his back seat. Crowley managed to keep his face straight long enough to pout. Dr. Fell marveled at how a grown man could act like such a baby. He also marveled at the fact that he found it incredibly endearing. </p><p>“Alright, I’m sorry, dear boy. Come here, let’s have a look,” he coaxed, laughter dissolving into a warm smile that instantly turned Crowley’s eyes soft and open again. </p><p>The redhead scooted closer, and Aziraphale took him into his arms, essentially resting Crowley’s head in the crook of his shoulder to analyze the wound in the dim light. The more inebriated figure took it as an invitation to cuddle against him, and the blonde couldn’t say he minded.</p><p>Gentle fingers pressed around the area, and he used his phone light to check closer, marveling at how soft the locks of hair were and how wonderful they smelled. He wanted to bury his face there. </p><p>“No real damage done, there may be some bruising tomorrow. Let’s make sure you get some anti-inflammatories in your system before bed.” </p><p>“Mmm,” Crowley grunted, giving Aziraphale exactly the opportunity he had wished for as he nuzzled against him. </p><p>Both too inebriated and lacking the self-hatred to deny himself, Aziraphale brushed his hand down the back of Crowley’s head, resting his cheek against the crown of it and massaging the pressure points at the base of his skull, drawing out a contented hum. </p><p>“Oh dear, I’d hate to hypnotize you again,” he remarked, stopping abruptly. </p><p>“Nooooo!” Crowley urged, playfully jostling Aziraphale’s jaw, “‘s okay. ‘S good. Better than xanax.” </p><p>Aziraphale smiled, continuing his ministrations. </p><p>“Should I feel bad? Sure your boyfriend or husband or whatever wouldn’t like you… er… hypnotizin’ other people in the back of taxis.” </p><p>The angel tried not to jostle Crowley against his shoulder as he laughed. If Aziraphale looked down, he could barely make out dark eyelashes fluttering. It felt nice, making him feel good. He tried to fight away dirty thoughts about how grand it might be to make him feel other kinds of bliss. “I don’t think you can be concerned about the opinions of a person that doesn’t exist.”</p><p>Crowley’s drunken mind took a bit of time to wrap around that sentiment, but when it did, he sat up, narrowing his gaze incredulously, “No bloody way! No one’s snatched you up? How is that possible?” </p><p>Aziraphale grinned at him, and something about it made even this very drunk and forward Crowley blush and shy away. </p><p>“Well, I suppose I’m still settling into London.” </p><p>“Hmm,” Crowley pondered, looking through his lashes up at him in a flirtatious show of suspicion, “Someone ought to do something about that.” </p><p>A blonde brow raised at him, and Aziraphale pinned him down with a smirk that had him abandoning his temptation and squirming in his seat, “And you? I certainly can’t imagine no one’s taken interest.”</p><p>Crowley began to preen, which Aziraphale was so quickly becoming desperate to incite. Nothing gave him quite the rush that making the redhead feel good about himself did. But the action crashed and burned before it grew wings, instead Crowley slumped against the window. </p><p>“I’m… dunno. Cursed. Don’t try for relationships. Sometimes do, but it always goes pear-shaped. They always find something wrong or broken about me. Even my therapist of six years had the wisdom to dump me. Now I only get as far as the first lay with someone before I cut and run. Better to preserve the good memories and spare them.”</p><p>“From what?” Aziraphale asked, brows furrowed in concentration as he focused on the bit of Crowley’s face he could see in the reflection of the window. His eyes were downcast, glistening with what must have been tears, and his cheeks winced at the question. </p><p>“Me, I guess. My bullshit. I ruin everything. The only thing I don’t fuck up is my job. Everything else is free game. ‘N that’s what I am, really: a fuck-up. People get too close and they’re sucked into it and then I’m fucking up their life, too. It’s like I’m broken or something, and who the hell wants broken goods? Probably why I’ve always winded up alone again. Probably why I should stay that way, even if I don’t want to,” he managed out through a wavering voice. He cleared his throat and sniffed, adjusting his head so it wasn’t pressing against the glass where he hit it, “Fine though. Like I said, I’m used to it.”</p><p>A long silence passed. Then Aziraphale spoke. His volume wasn’t loud, if anything it was softer than before, but somehow, it shook and shattered the earth. </p><p>“I don’t believe that will be necessary in the future.” </p><p>Crowley was staring at him now with wide, captivated, slightly frightened eyes, as if he was a character in a fantasy book being circled by a mighty dragon.</p><p>“Wh-what won’t be?” he managed after swallowing thickly. </p><p>“You, speaking ill of yourself in front of me. It won’t happen again.” </p><p>“Oh,” Crowley exhaled softly, his breathing slightly ragged and his eyes unmoving. </p><p>“Am I understood?” Aziraphale asked. His voice was perfectly pleasant, his smile sweet, but some glimmer in his eyes insinuated he could breathe fire, if he wished.</p><p>“Yes,” he snapped out much faster, a flush glowing through his face and dipping down to his neckline. </p><p>“Good,” he smiled, and Crowley shivered. </p><p>The car came to a stop, and Crowley turned to look out the window, “Right, this is me um- cheers. And thanks. For coming, I mean! It was- I mean- well, always inspiring for the troops to get to know their fearless leader.” </p><p>He shrugged, and gave a smile that made Aziraphale’s heart feel like it was glowing. </p><p>“Do you need help inside?” </p><p>“Pbbbshhhh, nawww, I’m alright!” Crowley insisted, opening the door, but as he staggered out of the car, Aziraphale realized he was very much not alright, and hurried out after him, paying the driver and insisting there was no need to wait. He ran over to the man just before he ran face-first into a streetlamp, taking a handful of the back of his shirt and yanking him backwards. Crowley fell back into him, and Aziraphale caught him without issue, balancing him back upright. </p><p>“Okay that streetlamp was <em> not </em>there when I left.” </p><p>“Oh yeah?” Aziraphale laughed, “More government rabble rousing?” </p><p>“Exactly! Yasee? Even the blasted city planning committee is out to get me!” </p><p>“My, my, this vendetta runs deep.” </p><p>“It does! It’s a conspiracy, angel!” </p><p>Aziraphale was disconcerted to find the doorman sleeping, but marveled at the appearance of the lobby, all sleek dark wood, angled windows, and impeccable granite. Incredibly modern. If he hadn’t been mistaken, he’d seen from outside that the units had balconies. The luxury flat had to cost at <em> least </em> quadruple what Crowley’s salary would allow. He started to ponder how he could possibly manage it, but his attention was quickly diverted from the calculations as the pair staggered to the elevator. The redhead sloppily smacked the button both above and below his floor before managing to light the correct little round circle.</p><p>“Shit, m’legs are like, fucking puddin’,” Crowley snorted, falling against Aziraphale and wrapping his arms indulgently over his shoulders.</p><p>The broader man smiled and supported him, “I’d imagine your circulation’s been cut off in trousers like that.” </p><p>The redhead gave a wicked grin, and Aziraphale felt how wildly Crowley’s heart was beating as the slim chest pressed against the span of his own width. He lowered his own lashes, and Aziraphale could see the burnt orange and pale green flecks in his eyes from this proximity. His pupils were wide pools, the symmetrical slits below each one looking like rich black drops pouring over. His breath hitched.</p><p>“Maybe, but they look wicked, don’t you think?” </p><p>Aziraphale desperately tried to think of sobering things as he watched that painted lower lip be caught between teeth. It should be <em> his </em>teeth worrying at it, licking into that mouth and pulling out sighs. What would Crowley’s moans sound like? Oh dear, these thoughts weren’t sobering at all. </p><p>He gave a grin up at Crowley that had the other shift into something demure, pink spreading beneath his many freckles. Aziraphale wanted to hold him there for hours, until he’d counted them all. “I do.” </p><p>Crowley preened. Aziraphale marked a victory. </p><p>They staggered out of the elevator, Crowley cackling loudly at Aziraphale’s critique of the shadow cast acting. </p><p>“You can’t tell me those poor little souls were convincing?” </p><p>“Angel, wha’ about some poor sods washing up at a space-ship that looks like a castle and is filled with queer and transgender space-traveling aliens who are also mad-scientists capable of creating human beings would be convincing to you?” </p><p>“I wouldn’t know,” Aziraphale insisted, gesturing broadly with his free arm, “But if I did, it would have been because the performers convinced me.” </p><p>Crowley threw his head back to laugh, his gait slowing. He sighed contentedly, then groaned, taking Aziraphale’s arm away so he could sit on the floor. </p><p>“Dear boy, whatever are you doing?</p><p>“Restin’. Too tired, I cannae make it.” </p><p>“What,” Aziraphale laughed, “oh come, now, we’re on your floor, how far is it?”</p><p>“Too far,” Crowley grunted, slumping against the wall and vaguely flopping his arm in the direction of the hallway, “All the way down. Last door. It’s okay. You can leave me here.</p><p>“Oh no, dear, no man left behind.” </p><p>“What’re you gonna do? Carry me?” Crowley snorted.</p><p>“Hmm, well if I must, I suppose I can,” Aziraphale considered, tilting his head. </p><p>Crowley snorted at him, rolling his eyes and kicking at his shoe, “Come off it. You couldn’t lift me.” </p><p>Blue eyes measured him up, and Aziraphale smiled, “I don’t think it’d be much of a challenge at all, really.” </p><p>“Right, you do that, then,” the redhead mused with a smug smirk. Clearly, he was under the belief that the offer was merely banter for the sake of flirting. </p><p>Aziraphale didn’t mind proving him wrong at all, easily scooping him into his arms and lifting him. He tried not to jostle him too much as he adjusted his hold, carrying on down the hallway. </p><p>Crowley froze stock still for a time before looking down, around himself, at Aziraphale, and stupidly saying, “You’re carrying me.”</p><p>“I would think that’s rather obvious.” </p><p>“No but- like, is this even hard for you? It’s like I weigh the same as a sodding house cat!” </p><p>The blonde laughed, not showing the least amount of strain, “Now don’t flatter yourself… you weigh at least the same as a small dog.” </p><p>Crowley scoffed in disbelief, grinning and turning a lovely shade of pink, “How- ? What- ? How are you so bloody strong?” </p><p>“Oh, I don’t know. I do swim quite a bit. I’m afraid I haven’t been able to as often as I’d like since I’ve arrived in London, but in Brighton I would swim every morning I could.” </p><p>“Like- in the ocean?” the redhead asked in disbelief. </p><p>“Yes, dear boy, that is indeed a convenient place to swim.” </p><p>“Wasn’t that freezing?” </p><p>Aziraphale was growing quite fond of Crowley’s determination to ask questions and his fearlessness against appearing oblivious or being judged for them. “Sometimes.” </p><p>“I don’t like the cold.” Crowley shivered thinking about it. </p><p>“You might like the ocean. It really is lovely. Cleanses the soul, I think.” </p><p>Crowley looked on fondly at that, then a bit of embarrassment crossed his face, “Wouldn’ dare. Can’t swim.” </p><p>“Really?” Aziraphale humored him, surprised, “Anthony Crowley in his great capacity for saving every sorry soul that trips across his path can’t swim?” </p><p>“Oh don’t get me wrong, if a kid was drowning or something I’d… dunno, probably flop out there and make a nice show of drownin’ next to him,” Crowley snorted with a shrug.</p><p>“Well, lets pray it doesn’t come to that, then,” Aziraphale hummed as they reached the end of the hallway. He was amused at the disappointed expression on Crowley’s face as he was gently set down and balanced upright. “Right then, safe and sound. Have your keys?” </p><p>Crowley patted around his front and back pockets before nodding, “yes!” followed shortly by, “oh, fuck.” </p><p>“Really? You lost them?” Aziraphale asked, trying not to act aggrieved. If Crowley was put out, he hardly needed to feel responsible for Aziraphale’s voluntary misadventure.</p><p>“Oh no! Got those, it’s- lost my glasses,” he sighed and leaned against the wall beside his door, “Those were my favorite pair. Versace.” </p><p>Aziraphale opened his mouth, shut it, then, at Crowley’s raising of curious brows, opened it again, “If you’re offended, I’d hope we can blame the liquor, but you really are so handsome without them. You’ve such beautiful eyes, Crowley.” </p><p>Crowley withdrew, rubbing his neck and looking deeply shamed, “Nothin’ handsome about walkin’ ‘round lookin’ like a bloody mutant. Sweet of you to lie, though.” </p><p>The doctor frowned, shaking his head, “Do I seem like a liar to you?” </p><p>Amber eyes looked demurely up at him, and Crowley cleared his throat, as if his blush would clear with it. He attempted to laugh, turning his eyes away as if to hide them and shrugging his shoulders, “Then I guess the lapse in judgement is the liquor, like you said.” </p><p>“No, Crowley,” he said firmly, commanding his attention. Crowley’s breath hitched as Aziraphale stepped closer to him. Broad hands raised to grasp either side of his thin ribcage. He wanted him to listen, to hear, to soak up every word.</p><p> “The first time I ever saw your eyes, they took my breath away, and every day after, I’ve chased after any- <em> every </em> chance to see them again. They’re… they- ,” he paused, taking a shaking breath as he shook his head, at a loss for the words he needed. He stared into the very pools he was attempting to describe, and his chest felt raw. </p><p>How didn’t Crowley know? How didn’t he know that all the power and magic of the cosmos was in his eyes? Every swirling galaxy nature had ever manifested. Every speck of stardust. </p><p>And how was Aziraphale meant to describe the beauty of the universe? How could he begin to explain that wonder that lay past his eyes themselves and made way into the depths of his soul? White hot stars of anger or pain. Isolated, iced-over moons of sadness and loneliness. Habitable planets, teeming with happiness and humor and <em> life. </em>He could see them all now as Crowley looked on with baited breath, as if Aziraphale was about to share every secret he had ever yearned to know. </p><p>“They’re the most stunning eyes I’ve ever seen in my life,” he settled with, disappointed in himself. He treasured words, new and old, from all literature of all cultures. Why now, when he needed them most, did they fail him? </p><p>Crowley’s eyes fixed on Aziraphale now, but they didn’t shut, didn’t shy away, instead they only opened wider, grew softer, showed him everything he could ever wish to see. </p><p>And he surged forward, catching Aziraphale’s lips with his own, and like the ignition of a gas flame, every bit of lust and desire that had been suppressed surged through the broader man in one roaring flash of heat. He crowded Crowley in against the wall, one hand raising to curl through the hair at the nape of his neck, the other greedily smoothing over the bare skin at Crowley’s side. </p><p>He worked their mouths together in slow, but deep, indulgent motions, licking into each surge and working his tongue against Crowley’s. On one retreat, he caught that tempting lower lip between his teeth and gave it a punishing suck that inspired Crowley to grasp at the back of his waistcoat and drawl the most <em> sinful </em>moan Aziraphale had ever heard in his life. </p><p>He moved to break apart, to take a second, to think, but Crowley chased after him, running a hand up his neck and cupping just behind his ear, his thumb rubbing the space in front of it, not with any kind of force but with the sweetest tenderness. Their efforts were redoubled, and Aziraphale was dizzy at the heat of it, of Crowley’s panting and whining into his mouth, of the gnash of tongue and teeth and how Crowley bit <em> back </em>and submitted all at once. He wrapped his arm around the small of the slender back, basking in the feel of the smooth skin and pulling Crowley in impossibly closer against him, drawing out another intoxicating moan. Lord, if he made these noises doing just this, Aziraphale longed to hear how he might sound during- </p><p>He pulled back, and Crowley tilted his head back against the wall, sounding the loudest, most broken, needy cry and sigh yet. His face was flushed and glowing, his eyelashes fluttering, his lipstick smeared across his face, and those gorgeous eyes that had started it all were rolling back in his head. It was the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had ever witnessed, but then he registered that he wasn’t sure what incited it. </p><p>A quick glance downward yielded the answer, and he realized he had subconsciously started grinding a thigh between Crowley’s legs, adding absolutely cruel pressure to the growing bulge in what now appeared to be <em> painfully </em>tight trousers. </p><p>He released Crowley, needing to gather every scrap of discipline in his being not to cave into that pretty whimper of need. He shook his head. </p><p>“I’m sorry-” </p><p>“I’m not,” Crowley rushed out, biting his lip and washing his hands over Aziraphale’s chest and broad shoulders, “Won’t you come inside?” </p><p>Aziraphale challenged the boundaries of his self-restraint yet again as he gazed into those infinite pools. The plea was born of more than lust. It was a cry for help. </p><p>‘Don’t leave me,’ it said, ‘You make me feel wanted.’ </p><p>And oh, he <em> did </em>want him. Terribly. Unfairly. Immeasurably. </p><p>But now, he understood him- understood it all. </p><p>Crowley wanted to feel worthy and loved. He needed praise and affirmation.</p><p>He wanted to feel significant and wanted. He needed company and attention and duties. </p><p>He was lost, and he wanted to feel found. He needed guidance.</p><p>He wanted someone to pick up the slack where his control fell short and the rest spiraled out. He needed loving discipline. He needed rules and rewards and expectations. </p><p>He wanted to be given what he needed. He needed to be given what he needed.</p><p>It all lined up so beautifully. No contrasts that foretold doom. And he wasn’t broken- not in the slightest, no matter how much he thought he was. Aziraphale was desperate to meet every last need. He was aching to slowly change Crowley’s view of himself, to make him see what he saw,  to show him what a beautiful, unique, <em> whole </em>person he really was. </p><p>But Crowley was also skittish. He was fragile. He was wrought with worries that history would repeat itself. He’d said it himself- after the first night together, he would cut and run. Then, Aziraphale wouldn’t be in a position to do anything for him at all. They wouldn’t even be able to find a friendship. That just wouldn’t do. </p><p>He inhaled deeply, allowing Crowley to pull him close and bump their foreheads together. </p><p>“We’re both quite drunk,” he tried. </p><p>“What, you’re worried it’ll be sloppy? We can compare notes and go again in the morning,” he hummed, kissing up Aziraphale’s jaw and nibbling just below his ear before sighing into it, “And I’m a very good cook, I’ll ruin all other breakfast for you.” </p><p>Aziraphale sighed, every ounce of his willpower dedicated to not giving in. As if this wasn’t hard enough already, now he was being tempted with delicious foods. Perhaps it was Crowley that was clairvoyant. He sounded his own little groan of loss as he gently pressed Crowley’s shoulders against the wall, effectively unlatching him from where his tongue was doing absolutely wicked things with his earlobe. </p><p>“I think… you’re just feeling a bit lonely, darling. You might not even be attracted to me,” he said with a gentle smile, trying not to look too doting as Crowley’s expression transcended into a pout. </p><p>“Well! Point <em> A </em> , I <em> am </em> lonely, but that’s not a very sexy argument when trying to get someone into your bed. And Point number <em> two,” </em> he drawled, swaying slightly as he made animated gestures with his hands. Aziraphale smiled fondly, amused by the shift in listing, “I am <em> immensely </em> attracted to you. Your whole… whole… sexy-librarian-that-takes-a-personal-interest-but-won’t-hesitate-to-spank-you-if-you-return-books-late vibe <em> really </em>does it for me. Like… like I didn’t even know that was a thing I was into until I met you.” </p><p>Aziraphale tilted his head and raised a brow. It was a good thing he still had a firm grip on Crowley, because the wicked grin he gave him had him actually swooning. </p><p>“Is that right?”</p><p>“Oh <em> yes,” </em>Crowley sighed in confirmation.</p><p>The blonde gave Crowley an appraising look up and down, trying to decide how he was going to handle this with such a cunning devil dismantling every argument. </p><p>“Do you know something, my dear?” he asked, taking a hand away to rest it on the wall beside Crowley’s head. </p><p>“Mmmm?” the redhead hummed with a blush, gaze fixed on where he was playing with the button of Aziraphale’s shirt resting just below his bow tie.</p><p>“I don’t believe you dislike authority quite as much as you say.” </p><p>Crowley pouted and whined, “oh <em> yes </em>I do. Trust me.” </p><p>“Hmm, I think the powers that be- or that have been, rather- haven’t had your best interest at heart. They’ve made rules to oppress and stifle you and punishments to shame you. What if it were different? What if you behaved for someone who only acted authoritatively on behalf of your well-being and happiness?” </p><p>“Like who?” Aziraphale wasn’t sure if Crowley was more dizzy from the alcohol or the lust or the power play. Perhaps it was a cocktail of all of them combined.</p><p>“I think you know.” he hummed, nuzzling his pointed nose against Crowley’s hooked one. </p><p>“Ohhh, yes, please, I can do that!” Crowley rushed eagerly.</p><p>“Excellent! Aren’t you such a good boy?” Aziraphale leaned back to praise, fixing Crowley’s hair and delighting in the way the man’s face lit up at approval, “I’d like you to go inside, eat some protein, drink two glasses of water, take some ibuprofen, take a shower, and go to sleep.” </p><p>The redhead looked whip-lashed from the contrast in sexual energy to such chaste requests. It was clearly uncharted waters for him, he didn’t know how to handle a situation without using some sort of sensual pull. Aziraphale watched him flounder for a response. Apparently, he was sure this was just flirting. He hadn’t understood that the blonde meant exactly what he said- that he cared for Crowley’s health and happiness. Sex was bandaid, in this situation. Not the long-term treatment he so desperately needed.</p><p>“And what if I don’t?” he settled on, taunting Aziraphale with a sultry smile. Ah, trying to bring the ball back into his court. The doctor wasn’t deterred by the attempt at resistance; it made the win much more satisfying.</p><p>He took a step away, out of Crowley’s space, and abolished any physical contact. He gave a small sigh, holding his hands behind his back, “Well, I had hoped you would want to behave for me. I suppose I’d be very disappointed.” </p><p>Crowley fell for it hook, line, and sinker, grasping at Aziraphale’s waistcoat again, “Oh nonono! I will! I can be good! I’ll do it!” </p><p>“Wonderful, I knew you’d be a sweet darling for me,” Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley melted a bit again. Then a bit of sadness and insecurity flashed across his eyes, and they cast downwards. Oh that wouldn’t do at all. “Whatever is the matter, Crowley?” </p><p>“Nothin’,” the other was quick to say, but some convincing look must have flashed across Aziraphale’s face, because he swallowed hard and mumbled, sheepishly, “But you did want to, didn’t you? To say ‘yes’, I mean?” </p><p>Oh, his poor little tempter. He’d hurt his pride, made him insecure about his abilities. Aziraphale smiled, raising a hand to brush softly over Crowley’s cheek. </p><p>“Oh, my dear, I did. You have no idea how quite how much. But the thing is, when I have you for the first time,” he crowded Crowley in against the wall once more, trickling his free hand teasingly up the flesh over his lower spine. His lips brushed against his ear as he cooed, “you’ll want to remember it.” </p><p>A strong shiver wracked through Crowley and, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, he sounded a hearty, “Ohhh!” </p><p>Aziraphale pulled away for the last time with a coy smile, leaving Crowley beet red and avoiding his gaze as he fumbled in pulling out his keys and putting them in the door. The blonde turned, beginning to walk away, but before he got even five meters, a soft, unsure voice sounded, “Aziraphale?” </p><p>He stopped and turned. </p><p>Crowley looked surprised he did, almost as if he expected to be ignored or unheard. His hands were twisted into his pockets again, his shoulders raised rigidly. He looked anxious. Unsure. Exposed.</p><p>The taller figure mumbled and stuttered a bit, trying to figure out what he wanted to say. Giving up about twenty seconds through and looking even smaller than when he started, he sighed out an uncertain, “Erm… goodnight.” </p><p>Aziraphale walked back to him, gently withdrawing one of Crowley’s hands and giving him his warmest look as he leaned down, lips softly brushing over bony knuckles. </p><p>“Goodnight, Anthony.”</p><p>Hypnotizing amber eyes flooded with relief as the broader man stood back up straight, brushing his fingers over his palm before releasing the hand and turning to leave again. </p><p>Not too far down the hallway, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, and found Crowley bouncing on his toes, smiling to himself gleefully as he unlocked his door. </p><p>It might be a slow process: breaking him of his old habits, distancing him from those fears, and coaxing him to feel comfortable drifting into the safe harbors that lied up ahead. </p><p>Aziraphale thought of him- of his beautiful, open eyes and bright smile and beautiful laugh. He’d be happy to wait. </p><p>Honored, even.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Told you part 2 would be uploaded soon ;D ~ You know a bitch is spoiled when he loses a pair of versace sunglasses and only acts minorly upset lmao</p><p>Hope you enjoyed it getting a bit hot and heavy there for a second. Wonder how they'll handle it going forward~ </p><p>Figured now would be a good place to bump the rating to M. It'll be a bit before we get to E, but trust me, that's where we're headed. </p><p>Thank you again for the kudos and- my gosh- the comments! I LOVE reading them so much!</p><p>Feel free to hmu or ask any questions!<br/>Twitter: @Get_Wrexed<br/>Tumblr: getwrexed</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crowley had no small amount of experience getting black out drunk. He had a tried and true ritual of shutting his front door, heading to his bedroom, and face planting into the sheets upon arriving home. At some point he would wake up, likely to heave his guts out in the toilet for a tortured half hour before falling back asleep, unceremoniously, half-way on the sleek tile flooring and half-way on the black plush bath mat. He’d have no dreams, as his brain was likely too tired or too busted to spin any up after such an intense night. In the morning, he’d be blinded by the dull light that squirmed to him through the London fog, the light sensitivity that accompanied his coloboma at full force. Then, he’d drag himself to lay in the tub as the spray of the showerhead rained down on him. He’d groan and perhaps cry depending on how bad he felt for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, it followed that he was shocked upon waking the next morning in his bed and finding he’d forgone the whole practice. The waterglass on his side table was curious enough, then he sat up and found himself clean, his hair having dried into some style reminiscent of a cockatiel. Clearly, he’d showered. He stood, curious, and toured the rest of his abode. He cringed at the light coming in the window. A powerful wave of vertigo fought him with each wobbled step. However, his typical crippling nausea was only a figment of what he’d experienced in the past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently he’d made a sandwich when he’d got home, as all the materials were still sitting out on the granite counters, as was the plate in the middle of the island, littered with a few stray crisps. A journey to the bathroom proved he had also been inclined to take a shower, and he must have been inspired while doing it, because his vibrator was currently trooping through the last of its battery life after it had been abandoned on the shower floor. His medicine cabinet was open and an array of bottles were dumped in the sink. The only one open was a small plastic jar of ibuprofen. He popped a couple more for good measure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one else had been in his flat, that much was clear. He checked his texts with Bealz, finding he’d directed much gibberish at them, and they’d clearly stayed up to enjoy it. However, there was no indication that they’d come by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps a very generous ghost had possessed him, because he couldn’t for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>life </span>
  </em>
  <span>of him figure out anything else that might drive him to such sensible action when shitfaced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took care to arrive at work 40 minutes early with hopes that he might hide himself away in a corner bay and hook himself up to an IV. The very essence of life felt like it’d been sucked out of him, and he was sorely in need of revival. He sat on the end of the cot in the bay and flopped his body back, closing his eyes and praying the world might stop its bloody spinning for a moment so he might remember bits of his black out while the reviving liquids pumped into his inner arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered arriving at the club, kissing a certain blonde doctor on the cheek, huddling under newspapers, and dancing The Time Warp. He remembered rescuing Aziraphale (because that was his fucking name, wasn’t it?) from a virgin sacrifice, being thanked by the unfeeling disposal of his cigarettes. Had there been some flirting, there? He felt he recalled there was quite a bit and smirked for the first time that day. Then they came back in for drinks… after that, it was spotty. A crying girl. Being in a dirty alleyway. Anathema and Warlock dragging him by the arm. Had he almost run into a lamp post? A firm, strongly muscled chest covered by a deceptive layer of soft flesh- the fuck was that one? A dream, most likely. His memories faded from a clear lightness into a mucky grey, and he couldn’t figure out anything really. Crowley considered himself lucky he got home, that he didn’t give up and find an enticing stranger to take him to theirs just to get himself out of the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello the- well, you’re not Mrs. Mendez.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley lifted his head, squinting an eye open to view a very amused Dr. Fell standing with the curtain ajar. Of all the people to catch him- well, actually, perhaps this wasn’t so bad. Aziraphale wasn’t known for chastising the nurses on abusing resources, mostly because he was too oblivious to notice. More important matters went into running an A&amp;E.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-,” Crowley said before lifting a hand to wave in front of him, “These are not the droids you're looking for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your jedi mind tricks have no power here, dear boy,” the blonde replied without a moment’s pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. Well. I still have thirty minutes before my shift. I may be a thief, but I’m not... you know, a slacker.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Aziraphale hummed, a grin toying at the edge of his lips. Crowley enjoyed it for the brief moment it was present before friendly concern took its place. “It’s a shame you’re having to suffer for a good night. At least, I hope you enjoyed it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a fervent curiosity there that Crowley couldn’t quite place. He struggled to sit up, wincing at the light coming in through the curtain. Aziraphale, ever so considerate, closed it, and Crowley gave him a sheepish smile and shrugged his thin shoulders. “What I can remember, sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear, I truly wasn’t aware you were that far gone!” the blonde started, looking a bit guilty for some unknown reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, angel. No one ever seems to notice- me highest among them. If no one ever stopped me I’d just keep going. Fun at the time but leads to some very confusing mornings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm.” Aziraphale gave him a critical look, one that practically said </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone ought to tend to that. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley tried to suppress the shiver that worked up his spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but, I mean- I do remember most of it. Bits of ‘I’m going home’ and… well, that’s pretty much the last of it. Anyway, hope it was fun for you, too?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a long, analyzing game, Aziraphale raised his hand to try to hide his polite laugh at Crowley’s expense. Must have asked him that excessively the night prior. “Yes. Quite. Thank you for asking me to tag along.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean-,” Crowley mumbled, feeling a flush come to his face and raising an arm to rub his neck; he’d hate for the doctor to be too aware of the level of his besottedness, “just an advocate for the staff. And you did- erm- enjoy everyone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did you like me? The real me? Could you like me even more? Do I have a chance?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Another look that was only seconds but felt like minutes. Blue eyes dove into his own, assessing something, and then a grin broke out on Aziraphale’s face. Crowley couldn’t help but feel the doctor knew something he didn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about that smile made Crowley’s heart race five times faster, and he cleared his throat, looking away, “Sorry, not sure I’m quite alive this morning. Feelin’ a bit ‘Walking Dead’ over here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear, that does sound troubling. Any particularly worrying symptoms?” Aziraphale asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley thought about it, certain that all horrible ailments of his hangover were quite typical. However, he braved a look back at that handsome face and found playfulness residing there. He might even dare to say it was laced with… not flirtation, was it? Couldn’t be. He cracked a grin anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dunno, doc… soul’s been sucked straight out, joints are goin’ stiff, brain’s liquefied in my skull- pretty sure I saw some of it drip onto the kitchen floor this morning. But that’s probably normal, isn’t it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, might require a closer look,” Aziraphale hummed, plucking an otoscope off the wall and applying a fresh cap to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley played along, leaning towards Aziraphale and looking innocently at the ceiling as the blonde turned on the light and peered into his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the prognosis, Doc? Am I doomed to a lifetime of brain-cravings?” he sighed wistfully. Something about Aziraphale’s free hand on the back of his neck felt oddly reminiscent. He shrugged it off as the doctor pulled away and gave him a mock look of solemnity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Over the bend I’m afraid, Mr. Crowley. Won’t be long now,” he informed, righting the equipment, “In better news, once that hunger takes over, there’s plenty of slow targets ready for you mulling about here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nearly smiled, but he was having quite a fun time with the bit playing out. So instead he huffed and dropped his chin into his palm, raising his brows. “Well… at least I had an eventful life. Squeezed in a good amount of travel. Caused all sorts of mayhem. Got tackled by a member of the Queen’s Guard-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did not!” Aziraphale gasped, pleasantly scandalized. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what on earth did you do to deserve that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley found himself unable to ward off a cheeky grin this time as he hummed, “nicked his hat. Got a whole block before he grabbed my jacket and I took a tumble on the walk. Worth it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anthony J. Crowley,” Aziraphale playfully scolded in a manner the recipient immediately knew he would never tire of, “Now whatever would make you do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde smiled with fondness. Too much. So much Crowley was quite certain he didn’t deserve it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well- they always look so smug standing there. Actin’ like they’re sssso important. Just a tourist attraction, aren’t they? Offends one’s sensibilities. ‘S a challenge, really, innit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughed, “I believe that’s your inner Scot talking, my dear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley joined in the laughter in his surprise, eyebrows raising in delight. Must’ve told Aziraphale that bit about himself, then. A happiness welled up inside himself when he realized that he’d gotten his wish. One night away from the hospital, and they were friends. If he didn’t know any better, he might even feel good about himself for it. Perhaps he wasn’t interesting or impressive, but he was enough to be worth bonding with. He’d take that win.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The owner of long dark hair poked her head in, holding two cups of takeaway coffee and still wearing her purse and jacket. Anathema analyzed the pair, giving a knowing grin before clearing her throat, “Dr. Fell, one of the nurses is looking for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear! I imagine they are,” he fussed, moving away from Crowley, to the redhead’s dismay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my fault, that is. Always was told I’m quite the distraction.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you are, my dear,” the doctor hummed before leaving. The nurse wished he hadn’t left so fast, as to an idle ear that had sounded like flirting, and he very much longed to know if it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Anathema grinned, handing him a cup of coffee that he gratefully snatched up, taking urgent, greedy sips, “What happened there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened where?” he grunted, no longer compelled to act chipper without an inexplicably energizing and charming man engaging with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, with Fell? Last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stopped mid-sip, giving her a blank, yet fully attentive stare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... you were hanging all over him? Couldn’t keep your hands to yourself? You </span>
  <em>
    <span>left </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a cab </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley spat, slamming the cup down next to him with such force that Anathema jumped back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted, “Oh my god, do you not remember? You were dead set, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mooning </span>
  </em>
  <span>over him! I could have sworn you were going to invite him in.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s eyes made a panicked journey, flicking every which way as he desperately tried to remember. Did he try to seduce Aziraphale? Oh god- did that mean, if he did, Aziraphale </span>
  <em>
    <span>turned him down? </span>
  </em>
  <span>How much of a fucking embarrassment could he have been? Oh, and their interaction just now seemed perfectly normal, if not closer than before. Could the doctor have just been teasing him? Fuck, surely he was too nice for that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, bullocks,” Crowley groaned, weighed down with all the self-pity and self-loathing in the world as he buried his face in his hands, “Why must I be such a ridiculous sodding mess of a man?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There there, Crowley,” Anathema cheered, rubbing her hand over his back, “That’s what makes you so lovable.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While the anxiety most certainly prevailed, redoubled in its effects by his wretched hangover, at least the ‘work’ setting of his personality allowed focus on the task at hand. He was to advocate and aid his patients, and everything irrelevant fell to the back of his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it was, one of WInger’s patients had come in after losing 10 kilograms in two and a half weeks, suffering an inability to keep food down, spontaneous vomiting, and bouts of diarrhea and bloody constipation. The doctor assigned to the case phoned it in entirely, deciding to diagnose the patient with diarrhea and send them home. Upon the patient’s bursting into tears from frustration, Crowley decided to take the reins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He marched to Gabriel’s office, on a warpath and ready to tear that smug, overly-confident American prick a new one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened, Crowley filled his lungs, ready to shout with gusto. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound that left him instead was a strangled garble. He rushed to quietly shut the door, pressing his back hard against it. He felt a rush of heat burst through his face, letting out a high-pitched whine in place of a scream. Then, he realized he could still hear the moans and growls from behind the door. He rushed away, mind carding through all sorts of impulses that might effectively blind him yet could not burn the image he just stumbled upon from his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His argument could wait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until he was coming back from his lunch break that he finally found the small figure sporting messy black hair. He caught up to them, leaning forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Trix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz threw their head his way, raising a brow at him, “Hey, babe. Someone had fun last night, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Hey- uh, do I have something in my eye?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped in their march. Crowley briefly admired their ensemble, designer high-waisted wide-leg black and white striped trousers over a faded Black Sabbath t-shirt and mismatched black and white asymmetrical Jimmy Choo pumps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz plucked the penlight out of Crowley’s scrub top pocket, yanking him down with no mind for gentleness and pulling his cheek down to peer into his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look up,” they instructed, “Follow the light.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last they offered a noncommittal grunt, shrugging as they turned off the light and popped it back into his pocket, “As pretty and unimpeded as ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, so-,” he said, chasing after as they sped off again, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>actually see you bending Dr. Winger over his desk and savagely fucking him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz gave an unmistakable grin, although not ceding their gaze to Crowley. They shrugged their thin white-coat clad shoulders. “Guess you must’ve done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They clocked Crowley’s incredulous expression and barked a sharp laugh, “Oh don’t start fussin’. Didn’t I hear you got a cab with Fell last night? You left me a rather crude voice message complaining about how horny you were. Surely there’s something in that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no no no no you fucking don’t!” Crowley hissed, refusing to think of his own shame when his best friend was laying out theirs shamelessly, “We’ve been talkin’ quite a bit ‘bout me lately. ‘S your turn- missy- sir- my good nonbinary fellow!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz snorted and bumped his thigh with their hip, crowding him to the newsstand. They briefly asked if he wanted anything, that smarmy grin not budging as he pouted and slapped an iced coffee and smoked barbecue ships down next to their energy drink, hoard of candy, and cool ranch doritos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many energy drinks today does this make?” he fussed</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you want to know, officer?” they asked, an amused grin on their features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, what’s up with the Winger thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohh y’know. Came down to chew him out for tryin’ to fuck you over. Was in the middle of diminishing him, stripping down his pride to nothing, before he- and then consequently, I- discovered that’s apparently a major turn on for him. So. Y’know. Just been fuckin’ around ever since. ‘S surprisingly fun. And not bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley opened his mouth to remark that he was impressed Gabriel let Bealz top, but not wishing to be called out himself, he shut it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re not like…,” he trailed off. Bealz rose a black brow at him in curiosity. He shrugged a shoulder, as if that was supposed to explain his concern. They seemed to understand, bursting into laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>no. That twat? Nah. He’s a fine bit o’ ass, yeah? That’s all, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! That’s alright, then,” Crowley approved, feeling much better than a moment ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’monnnn, you know after all we’ve been through, it’d take a fucker with some real grit to pull my solitary affections away from you,” Bealz teased, lifting their hand to place on him and then taking it back, mindful of the fact that they were at work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley blushed, but smiled, feeling every bit of anxiety wash away and replace itself with the warm comfort that was all, 100% organic Beatrix Bealz, “Shaddap, you. Work, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” they laughed, shoving the crisps and iced coffee into his arms and starting their march back up. Again, he scurried after them. They were so much shorter, and at disadvantage so often with heels, yet they moved like lightning. “Thanks for swappin’ Thursday for today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course, Red Hot Chili Peppers aren’t gonna see themselves in Dublin,” Crowley grinned, a thrill of excitement fluttering through his stomach at the thought of their impending weekend getaway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget about the oddities roadshow,” Bealz reminded in a sing-song voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Worth the sufferin’,” he laughed, “We still on for the stream later today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you plottin’, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Until Dawn,” Bealz hummed, grinning at him mischievously, “Wicked spooky. You’ll be so bloody cute playin’ it. So jumpy. The viewers will love it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked in silence for a moment, Crowley’s practical sneakers a sharp contrast to the pointed heels Bealz wore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So…. out of curiosity… Winger....”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz half-glared, half-grinned up at Crowley, rolling their eyes and snorting, “I’ll give you five words.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s he like?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surprisingly generous. Very good. Noisy but quick to shut it if I make him. But I mean, you must’ve guessed he was some fun, if I’m still playin’ with him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pondered over his remaining two words, noticing they were coming near the elevators. If Bealz was on the ground floor, they must’ve just finished a surgical consult. They’d be off to the OR soon and it’d be hours before he’d see them again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any surprises?” he landed on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They threw him a pointed grin as they entered the lift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes. Turns to butter at commands. Likes a firm hand, someone to tie him up and shove him around,” they hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward to slap a button and flash a toothy grin, “Guess you two have something in common, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley turned a stark red, throwing himself forward to wrastle his obnoxious, dearest, most beloved person. Instead his foot kicked the closed elevator, as- of course- Beatrix had planned their departure perfectly. Ever one for dramatics, them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a prick. Fuck, he loved them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley tried to withhold tears, his forehead slotted against a shelf in a dark medical supply closet. He breathed in deeply, noting there must be some gloves just in front of his face judging by the stark, familiar smell of latex, and exhaled slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today was too fucking much. First was the creeping anxiety of last night’s forgotten behavior annihilating any chance of moving forward with his relationship- friendship- acquaintanceship? with Dr. Fell. Then there was the anxiety of Gabriel tearing down Bealz defenses and taking advantage of them. Lastly was the very real leftover manifestations of physical torment of a terrible hangover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His light sensitivity was worse than ever, and it left him with a migraine so bad he was unable to worry about the concerns at hand. Instead, he could only think of the dull throbbing rooting from the center of his forehead and bursting out so far as to the base of his neck. The practical part of him told him to go the fuck home, to sob into his pillow and pull closed the black out curtains and wait for the worst to past. The more stubborn part reminded him this was very much his fault. His choice. He shouldn’t have gone so hard on a work night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened and the light switched on, and he practically hissed, turning his face into the uncomfortable, hard corner of the shelves and letting out an unwilling and hearty groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh dear I didn’t real- dear boy, what on earth are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even at the friendly voice, and even knowing the sweet, warm, wonderful man who owned it, Crowley growled, “It’s my fifteen, I can do whatever the fuck I like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes indeed. But might I inquire what exactly that is, at present?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shame and guilt of his earlier coldness caught up in light of Dr. Fell’s patience, and Crowley remained quiet for a moment. At last he voiced through gritted teeth, “It’s just… bloody… fuckin’... sodding… uuuagh! migraine!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that won’t do at all. May I help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have work to do?” Crowley snapped. He couldn’t not. Fell knew what he was getting into after their outing. Work Crowley was always work Crowley. He always had people to protect. People to advocate for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps I’m taking my fifteen, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never take breaks, even when you ought to. Only lunch,” the redhead mumbled again, still not turned around as he took deep, steadying breaths. He didn’t realize the way his shoulders were shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet today I am. Let me help you, dear boy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, Crowley turned his face against the shelves, still slumped down against them, squinting blearily at Aziraphale standing in the doorway. He gave a soft grunt, “Dunno how you could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Acupressure,” Aziraphale kindly supplied, daring to take a couple steps closer and give that beautiful, concerned face, a smile edging at the end of it that made Crowley’s heart leap out of tandem. The Nerve. “Or- hypnosis, as you call it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was humor in his voice, and Crowley flooded pink, surmising there must have been a point last night where the doctor put him in that fuzzy state all over. Never once had he imagined </span>
  <em>
    <span>acupressure </span>
  </em>
  <span>might be the root of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Acupressure? How’dya know that? Isn’t it all bullocks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The physician gave a coy smile, crouching down and tilting his head to meet Crowley’s gaze in a way that should have felt infantilizing, but instead made his chest nearly burst open with the force of one thousand butterflies. “I took classes some years ago. There’s much to be learned from other cultures’ practices. Surely, only a bigot would claim that Western Medicine is the only one with value?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A darker hue flushed Crowley’s face, and he gave a shy shrug, “Never thought of it like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I have your consent then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell’s bells, he was patient. As if there was all the time in the world for Crowley. As if he would spin even more if they ran out. Crowley knew he wasn’t worth it, but he wanted to fall into it anyway. He turned fully towards Aziraphale now, although he still leaned pitifully against the shelves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. Yeah. ‘S fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any idea the source of the pain?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmh. My eyes. Fucking light sensitivity. You can’t- can’t imagine…,” he trailed off, feeling impossibly small and helpless as he whimpered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t prey oblivious of a predator. Dr. Fell was so sweet, yet there was a severeness about him, something sharp that made the redhead wish to comply to his every order. Crowley was aware of every bit of it. Yet, somehow, instead of seeing him as a hunter, he fell into the fantasy that he was… that he longed to be… that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be.. a protector. A guardian. Even as a predator. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially </span>
  </em>
  <span>as one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought grew stronger as Aziraphale stepped closer, as Crowley’s heartbeat pounded louder in his ears. Then he smelled his cologne, and much to his amazement and devastation, a thousand thoughts rushed his head- the taste of the doctor’s mouth, the way his teeth felt biting down on his lip, the longing to be bitten anywhere- everywhere else, his strong, broad hands on his body, maneuvering him so easily, a stern whisper in his ear as he was pinned to the wall, his own marveling at how deceptively </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong </span>
  </em>
  <span>the man was. Where was all this coming from? Satan, let it be real- but also no, oh fuck, no, because if it was, if these images were sourced from memory and not merely the whims of very teenage-like hormones, it would mean he’d gone and fucked everything up. It would mean he’d blasted the chance of having it for real to smithereens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A boisterous thrumming raced in his ears, worsening his headache. He had to be nearly as red as his hair now, but if he was, Aziraphale gave no indication of noticing. Too polite, Crowley figured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright then, I’m afraid the nerves for that are near your eyes, is it alright if I touch your face?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Crowley rushed out, but shied away when he realized how eager he’d sounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As always, Dr. Fell was so kind, paying no mind to his insecurities. Instead he raised his hands, his uppermost fingertips brushed gently against Crowley’s temples, his thumbs found the place where his brow bones met the bridge of his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This might hurt a little,” he warned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his thumbs bared down, and Crowley cussed, quietly, followed by a hiss of pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You swear this’ll help? Sod it!” the redhead growled out. His eyes were shut tight now, but the doctor’s grip didn’t loosen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I believe you’re quite sens-,” he halted his sentence, sounding immaculately fond, like perhaps he was smiling, as he continued, “I have reason to believe you’re quite susceptible to acupressure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That confirmed it, something </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>have happened where he administered such care to Crowley last night. His thoughts ran away from him, acupressure could incite all sort of feelings, after all. He chased them back near, surely it was just another headache, he assured himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse buried his teeth in his lower lip through the pain of pressure, but soon, the thumbs were gone, and with them, they took the heaviest weight. It felt like Aziraphale had sucked the pressure straight out of his head. It was light now, clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah,” Crowley voiced, blinking rapidly as he took in the sights of the closet and was shocked at the lack of pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?” Aziraphale tilted his head, genuine concern written on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chipper,” the redhead confirmed with a shy grin, “I’m sorry for ever doubting you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde looked nearly surprised, “Just like that? No more pain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked surprised in turn. Wasn’t the point of him helping that he ease the pain. “Er- no? Nah, it’s gone. Thanks! I mean- for er- doin… your… not your job I guess, I’m a nurse. Thanks for helping, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale let out a surprised laugh and raised his brows, “Yes. Quite. I suppose you’re even more- er- susceptible than I suspected previously. I’m glad to have helped. Enjoy the rest of your break, Crowley.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse took a deep breath through his nose, shrugging his shoulders as he watched the physician smoothly stride away. He felt good. Refreshed. LIke the world was his oyster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, time to slap some hot sauce on that bitch, squeeze some lemon juice over it, and slurp it down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The end of the day came. Crowley finished his work filling out charts. It didn’t take much thought, really. It left room for idle intrusions. Ponderings of “You made a fool of yourself last night.” Anxieties of “He’ll never respect you now.” Impossible truths of, “why would he waste his breath on a drunken, abandoned, unwanted waste of space like you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finished them at last and texted Bealz, questioning if they might be done for the day. After lack of confirmation, he went up to Trauma, and learned they’d be in surgery for at least two more hours. WIth a sigh, he accepted his fate of waiting for them at their apartment. It wasn’t too long a journey home, but Dr. Fell’s office was along the way, and he paced for at least twenty minutes outside it before, much to his mortification, a voice called out, “Crowley, is that you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His legs were stiff. They didn’t want to move. He forced them to, anyway, sauntering into the comfortable room with his fingers shoved deeply into his pockets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Hey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, he hated it. After being at the hospital for hours of his bad-bitch, intense, strict nurse code, it was awkward and exposing and vulnerable to switch on a cue back to his real-life code. That was the good part, though, wasn’t it? The charming, sociable part that enticed people- especially </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute </span>
  </em>
  <span>people- into talking to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hullo. Is there something you needed, dear boy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor sat at his desk, peeking over those ridiculous reading spectacles at Crowley. He hated that he liked them. He hated that he looked like a fucking old-fashioned librarian, ready to hear about how wounded he was and sit him on his lap and read him a story and chase all the pain away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley cleared his throat, as if the fantasy would clear with it, and turned his reddened face to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just- erm. The thing is,” he took a deep breath, forcing himself to look back at that expecting face, “I don’t remember anything after the last song at the show last night.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, you had mentioned earlier that you had something of a black out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah- uh- well, ‘s nothing. But. I have it on good authority that you- er… helped me home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was ready to run away already, to suffer under a scrutinizing, tired gaze. Aziraphale’s peering wasn’t anything like that. It was nothing judgemental. If anything, it was gentle. Careful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry if that was overstepping, I was worried, with your state, that you wouldn’t be able-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No- not overstepping!” Crowley rushed, reddening all over again. Guilt gnawed at him. Aziraphale was so calm, patient, and measured, but him? Crowley? He was impatient, anxious, rushed. He had to know. “I just- uh… wanted… wanted to make sure that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t overstep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Golden eyes closed themselves, and Crowley tried to count his breathing. Surely, he had to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he meant? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was- well he was just forbidden fruit, wasn’t he?  He was thoughtful and intuitive and gorgeous and </span>
  <em>
    <span>so clever. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He saw Crowley, to his very foundation. He was a doctor. He knew what people were. What they needed. How to heal them. Crowley wanted him. He wanted him to tend to </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>needs</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To make it all better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a sober, reasonable member of society, Crowley would accept that as a fantasy. But he knew himself when drunk, he knew he would have been eager to make it a reality. There was no way he hadn’t tried to draw the attentive, caring doctor into his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean- d- did -did I behave- did I do anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>unwelcome?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he stammered out, face a red that might give fire hydrants a run for their money. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale stared at him for a while. Then- in one moment short enough for someone to miss but long enough for Crowley to snatch onto for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lifetime</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he gave a grin that was the epitome of wickedness incarnate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, in a flash, it was gone, replaced with the very image of innocence, “No, my dear boy. No unwelcome behaviors at all. Nothing to worry yourself over. If you had anything to apologize for, I would tell you. Please, no need to work yourself into a state.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley bowed his head, clearing his throat again as his cheeks burned. He could hardly believe it. Perhaps he hadn’t blown it all yet, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blown what? He asked himself. No way was someone like Aziraphale Fell going to fall for some stupid nurse like him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart seemed to disagree, pounding away at the fond look the doctor was giving him now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right well, erm- maybe you could.. If you wanted… come again next time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor gave him a long look, and then burst into a smile that was surely what made the world go round.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dear boy, nothing would make me happier.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this chapter isn't super eventful, but I couldn't leave you guys hanging about the morning after!~ </p><p>Next chapter we'll get to see how Aziraphale is coping with his whole 'taking it slow' plan. He's not one for delayed gratification, so I'm sure we all know how that's going lol.</p><p>Thanks for the comments and kudos ;o; you guys are so awesome!~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: suicide-attempt patient</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Being patient. What an ambitious task for Aziraphale to have set himself upon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he regretted it. For Crowley, it was worth it. Yet it was slowly proving itself to be one of the most difficult things the doctor had ever endeavored. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trouble was that Aziraphale had never been one for delayed gratification. He was, at heart, a hedonist, allowing himself nearly whatever he fancied whenever and however he fancied it. Romance wasn’t an outlier, not really, but if he wanted Crowley in a way that wasn’t short and dishonest- if he wanted him for a long wonderful time and not just a quick good time, it would take patience. It would take restraint. It would take understanding and gentleness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Furthermore, he’d never known restraint in helping those who needed it. Every day, he’d see Crowley slip. He’d look on in moments the nurse thought no one was watching, he’d witness little nearly-imperceptible cracks form that he knew grew into chasms the deeper they ran. Through them would appear little glimmers of insecurity, anxiety, lonesomeness, helplessness, confusion. He longed to chase them away, to fill those crevices with love and reassurance and affection, to show Crowley matters were under control, he was taking care of them, of him. He longed to convince the self-tormenting soul to relax enough to let go, just a little, to let himself be carried when he was afraid he couldn’t carry himself. He longed for it so badly it left a residual ache in his chest at all hours of the day. It kept him up at night, staring at the ceiling and worrying if Crowley was awake too, letting his demons feast on his fears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only but a mere two weeks had passed since he’d set himself on his goal of attaining the utterly endearing, nuanced, lovely soul, and he was finding his original assessment more true than ever. Crowley was jumpy. He’d meant what he said about compartmentalizing. Gaining his trust and friendship was a painfully slow push-and-pull. He needed to be nudged to a place past his comfortable habit of distrust and guardedness, but not so far that he’d feel defenseless and go jumping off the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally, time was the most valuable resource in establishing a trusting, strong friendship where Crowley could feel comfortable and wouldn’t panic about Aziraphale harboring an intent to abandon or find flaws in him. If the doctor was going to manage it in less than several years- a preference he decided after much deliberation was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>too greedy to desire- he would need to find a way to spend time with him away from work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trouble was finding a way to do that. Of course, there was the direct method of asking him on a date, but then again the whole point of this course of action was to ensure Crowley didn’t spook and declare their first date their last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unfamiliarity of it all had Aziraphale more uncomfortably tense and pent up than he was used to. Nothing of his behavior had changed, not really, but every day was becoming a valuable practice in self-restraint. At least that’s how he made himself see it, else he would face the truth that his rose-tinted glasses were driving him mildly mad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The busy, hectic days did nothing to soothe his distress, but they stretched leagues in giving him something more productive to think about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day started with a family car crash. The mother was rushed to Trauma, suffering an alarming deal of internal bleeding. The father hadn’t made it to the hospital. Their three year old baby boy was left with horrible glass impalements, and Aziraphale was tasked with giving the poor thing stitches in a myriad of locations. The temporary nurse that was aiding him was a horribly incompetent young man that seemed to grow unfairly frustrated with the suffering lad. Aziraphale had to stop more than once to scold the nurse, or soothe the boy. He was becoming quite certain he’d never finish, just as a flash of red washed relief over his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You’ve never held a bloody kid before? Get the fuck out of here. Go to admitting, perhaps you’ll actually make yourself useful, there. I won’t hold my breath,” Crowley growled, practically sending the nurse scrambling away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, there, love. It’s alright. You’re alright. It’s safe now,” he flawlessly slipped from an air of terror to comfort, his voice going low and soothing in the way it only did with children. The blonde did so love to see him work with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> In mere moments, the little boy had his tiny tear-tracked face shoved up in the chest of Crowley’s red scrubs, holding still as anything for Aziraphale as he worked. Crowley rested his cheek on the crown of the little head sporting tight black curls, having a soft, comforting conversation about transformers and imparting promises of vending machine snacks and coloring books. He managed to get some array of giggles and smiles. Aziraphale hadn’t the slightest doubt that the nurse would keep true to his word, no matter how hectic the ER got. Ever attentive of the most vulnerable patients, his Nurse Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all turned the doctor’s heart to melted butter, and as he administered clean, tight stitches, he quite wondered who was the hypnotist among the pair of them, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waiting room became so full they had to begin asking patients to consider coming back another day, were their symptoms not too terribly severe. Aziraphale, of course, didn’t fret over this. He wasn’t really aware of it at all as a physician.. Instead, his attention focused on the bizarre amount of minor intakes. It seems everyone with an ailing tummy had found their way into the A&amp;E today, and it was a difficult venture navigating who was suffering from legitimate risk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, it became someone else’s burden to decide, as the ambulance bay seemed to rush the A&amp;E even faster. He stabilized a stab wound, sent the patient for a CT scan, sent Winger for the next incoming seizure arrival, and received the suicide attempt himself. A jumper, Micky Hardstark, a young man who could hardly be out of his twenties. Judging by his injuries, he’d jumped from four or five stories at most, but had still done a rather serious amount of damage, resulting in more than one compact fracture, a broken larynx, and vital organ damage. Surely, he needed to go up to the Trauma OR as soon as possible, but first he desperately needed intubation. The poor soul was mildly conscious, and despite croaking for air, he struggled to weakly fight off the professionals about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Room three,” Aziraphale instructed, glancing up at the two people assisting. One was Warlock Dowling, looking quite a bit green in the face. The other was Adam Young, completely calm, collected, </span>
  <em>
    <span>focused.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It wasn’t lost on Aziraphale, he saw remarkable value in that from the young nurse. Sure, he got a bit too eager, could be slow on the uptake, but he had fantastic leadership skills in a crisis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have another pick-up?” the curlier-haired boy asked the equally-young ECA. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sicker of the two nodded back, shortly, “Newt’s prepping the rig to go right back out. I can help with the bed transfer and then I’ve got to run."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy vey iz mir,” Aziraphale growled in exasperation, shouting over his shoulder in an uncharacteristically brusque command, “Where is everyone?! I need another nurse in here </span>
  <em>
    <span>now!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The squeak of sneakers assured he got one not a moment later, at least with four they could transfer the poor soul to a bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On my count,” he instructed, and in tandem, they lifted the man before Warlock was out the door, “Administer IVs- 1.5 mg ketamine and 1.5 mg </span>
  <span>succinylcholine per kilogram, </span>
  <span>and prepare the patient for RSI.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam rushed to grab the proper materials, the freshly arrived nurse quick to work out the IV dosage, insert the lines against the man’s struggling, and arrange the patient’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I know you don’t want it. I see you. We're with you, Micky. You’re good. We’ve got you. You can let go. There you are. Patient sedated. Oxygen ready.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale vaguely heard the voice in the background, but paid no mind to it, rushing forward above the head of the now unconscious man and sticking his hand at Adam, “Suction.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands worked quickly, well aware of the procedure at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Laryngoscope,” he ordered calmly, “Stylette and E.T. tube.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand was out again, mouth barely opening before he gripped the 10 CC syringe placed into his hand. No air leaks were present, and he went forth placing the tube into the man’s airway. The bag valve mask had just been arranged before the monitor started up with an angry alarm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No pulse.” The voice was familiar. Not a temp nurse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cardiac arrest. Prepare for CPR. Two breaths, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse applied two even squeezes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Starting compressions,” Aziraphale said before leaning forward and pressing his hands to the man’s sternum, counting evenly to thirty as the Radetzky March distantly kicked up in the back of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two breaths,” he commanded again, leaning back a moment to allow it and subconsciously glancing up to the bag valve. His own heart stopped cold in its tracks as he spotted the raised jagged scar running down the forearm of the hand administering the squeezes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought even before he forced himself to look up at Crowley. He nearly wished he hadn’t. Never before had he seen such a stark lack of color in the sharp lines of that handsome face. His jaw was clenched tight and his stare a million miles away. His hands were perfectly steady, but the poor dear’s torso was shaking like a leaf. He hardly looked to be breathing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale tore his eyes away. “Continuing compressions.” Whether his heart chose to believe it or not, there were more pressing matters at hand. He’d just gotten past the eighth compression when Micky’s heart rate sounded again. The three waited with bated breath for a moment before it evened out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vitals stabilized, doctor,” Crowley choked out, exhaling all the worries of the world as he did so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, then. Tally-ho, we mustn’t dally. Get him up to the OR.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both nurses rushed to mobilize the gurney, and they rushed him down the hallway. Aziraphale followed quickly after, flagging down Device.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anathema, help these two chaps, yes? And Crowley,” the nurses shoulders practically shot up to his ears when his name was called, his head ducked down. The blonde’s heart squeezed in his chest and he, again, resisted the urge to go to him, “Please, come see me in my office when you’re done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, doctor,” Crowley exhaled, every minuscule movement betraying his horrid anxiety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes chased after the red-clad figure as he moved the patient toward the elevator, more of a skulk than a saunter. He’d never seen the man move that way before. Some emotion he couldn’t put words to tore his chest to ribbons. He caught a flash of orange and pink out of the corner of his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Madame Tracey, care to take a turn with me?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman looked up from her paperwork, flashing that practiced smile as she moved over to him, “Oh, Dr. Fell, I was hoping in light of things today you might authorize the assistance of three more temp nurses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make it five, my dear. This most certainly has to be Armageddon. Now- I do like to know the limits of my staff. Am I wrong in presuming I wasn’t fully informed on such matters?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tracey gave him a confused glance before following his gaze to Crowley, who was hunched over the gurney, looking pitifully small as he rested a hand on Micky’s shoulder and spoke what must have been soothing reassurances. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh- oh dear that’s the jumper, isn’t it?” she asked, looking back to exchange solemn looks with Aziraphale. She took a shaky sigh, mirroring the same painful compassion as the blonde felt as she returned her gaze to the Head Nurse, “it’s not that he can’t. He’s perfectly capable. He knows what to do. It’s just that once it’s all over he- well, the poor dear seems to doubt himself beyond all reason. For the rest of the day he’s just- oh well he’s just not that fiery little devil we all know and love. Jumps at the notion that he should touch a patient, that he’s of any use at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale bit his cheek contemplatively, watching the nurses wheel the gurney into the elevator. “Right. Thank you ever so much, dear lady. Are there any other such cases I should know about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him contemplatively before leaning in close, “I’ve noticed Adam treats himself poorly around domestic abuse cases. Anathema struggles with burn victims. But I do hope I haven’t misled you to believe that any of us will allow our personal pain to interfere with our work?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde hesitated before offering a smile of consolation and nodding, “That may be true, my dear, but part of a healthy work environment involves some reasonable extent of respect for our comfort zones.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled brightly, and he was nearly shocked as she reached up to squeeze his cheek, “We lucked out quite a bit with you, didn’t we, Dr Fell? Lord above sent you straight to us, I’m sure of it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could reply, the chipper old nurse was scurrying off to a patient’s bedside. He breathed out a quiet laugh through his nose and lifted a hand to scrub the side of his face before turning to make his way back to his office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shut the door, making his way to the cabinets he kept at the back of his office and pulling a fresh shirt off a hanger to change into. His current one had become damp during all the morning’s hectic activity, and he wanted nothing more than to plunge into a cold body of water and swim laps until he lost count and the world made sense again. He had just buttoned up the new shirt when the door opened, and a very anxious Crowley inched the door open, free hand lodged firmly in a trouser pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm- Dr. Fell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, do come in. Tell me-,” Aziraphale leaned over his desk and glanced down as he mindlessly replaced his cuff links, “Has Mrs. Diaz or Mr. Carpenter been here longer?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Crowley cleared his throat, making a clear attempt at confidence but falling into a voice that was simply too loud and unsteady, “Mrs. Diaz has been here since last night. Her husband’s a bloody terror.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale hummed, moving onto the other cuff as he considered the cases. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Er- you- you asked for me,” Crowley reminded, raising a hand to rub the opposite arm in a self-hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I?” Aziraphale feigned forgetfulness. Instantly it proved worthwhile, as some tension left the lanky figure before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should-.... Should I shut the door?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you’re most comfortable with, my dear,” Aziraphale reassured, smiling warmly as he pulled on his waistcoat and buttoned it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pivoted in place comedically for a moment in a show of genuine uncertainty before he opted to shut the door, swaggering forward with a few uncertain steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was hoping you’d make camp in admitting for the rest of your shift,” Aziraphale explained upon finally falling privy to Crowley’s eyes, burning with uncertain questioning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lit with a flash of fire, a wounded animal lashing out, “The fuck for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’d be quite an asset there, today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I being punished for something?” Crowley growled, leaning forward and placing his hands on the desk, practically snarling. Oh, he did think he was so scary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all, it’s just as I said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You don’t think I’ve done anything wrong?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an accusation. Aziraphale raised a brow, figuring it might be an opportunity to catch an insecurity before it grew to full fruition. “I don’t. Do you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley reeled back at the question. He gave an indignant scoff, flaring up with panic that he was attempting to masquerade as righteous anger. He stammered for a moment before finally growling out, “Look- it’s clear you’ve decided I’m an incompetent weakling. If you insist on punishing me, then just send me home! You think-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s quite enough!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t loud or cross, but it was sudden and stern and surprised Crowley quite a bit. Aziraphale took a measuring breath. No anger or annoyance displayed itself on his face, and in truth, they wouldn’t have belonged there anyway, as he didn’t feel either. All he felt was an innate need to take care of Crowley, to stop this nasty line of thinking from growing wings and taking flight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dear boy, I have never cared for having words put in my mouth. I would not say it’s advisable. I certainly won’t allow for you to project your own worries and declare them to be my truths, and if you must, it would be remarkably blasphemous and most deeply offensive to suggest I consider you anything less than the excellent nurse and remarkable man that you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stood, silent and shell-shocked, mouth agape, unsure of what to say. That was fine, he didn’t need to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now. By levying such accusations, I feel it fair to ask: is there anything you might accomplish, were I to send you home, other than the passing of thoughts of similar slander towards yourself?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, color rushed into Crowley’s face, and he made a pathetic rush towards defiance, “I don’-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes or no?” Aziraphale asked sternly, and Crowley snapped his mouth shut again. They stood off for some time, Aziraphale not breaking eye contact as his hands deftly rearranged his fob and pocket watch and pulled on his white coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, Crowley dipped his chin, demurely glancing up at Aziraphale and worrying at his lower lip punishingly before mumbling a quiet, “No…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>wish </span>
  </em>
  <span>to return to the floor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>saw </span>
  </em>
  <span>the moment Crowley grasped a chance at escape from the vulnerable confidence and leapt toward it, “Doesn’t matter what I want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dear, I rather think it’s for me to decide what does and doesn’t matter in this A&amp;E. I’d ask you to take a moment to consider it carefully before you give me an honest answer to the question.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley averted his gaze. It slid about the room, then landed on the floor as he said again, “No, but- but I can... I can handle it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you can, Crowley. However the truth of the matter is our waiting room is Hell on earth. The temp nurses are a waste there, they’ve hardly an idea what they’re doing. People unneeding of attention are slipping through the cracks before people who are in urgent need of it. I need someone with some sense and command in there to straighten things up and get people some real assistance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” the nurse sounded in quiet surprise, eyes suddenly swimming. He stood a little taller. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, darling. Do you see it now? You’re perfectly capable. You’re an invaluable asset.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale smiled at the unmistakable sound of confidence. His hopes were being fulfilled very easily. Crowley would spend the day in admitting, peering over at what all the nurses on the floor were doing wrong, and by the end of it he’d be itching to go back, sure that no one there could do it as well as he could. He’d feel with total faith and that endearing cocky nature that the A&amp;E would fall apart without his lead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wonderful! Thank you ever so much, my dear. Aren’t you simply heaven sent?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say that,” Crowley anxiously laughed with a small smile and a light hue of pink crossing his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Differing opinions, I suppose,” Aziraphale hummed as he sat at his desk. That was fine for the time being. Views didn’t change over night, but they could- and they </span>
  <em>
    <span>would- </span>
  </em>
  <span>change eventually. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slender figure hummed, turning to take his leave. He stopped a few feet from the door, turning back and chewing his lip mercilessly yet again. “Aziraphale?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked up from his casework, removing the reading glasses he’d only just put on. “Yes, my dear?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley relaxed a bit at the common moniker and blushed darker. Aziraphale thought of a thousand other pet names he’d like to call him. Tens of thousands more words of praise he’d love to impart were it to see him preen in that lovely way he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ceased those thoughts as a sudden vulnerability became apparent. Crowley took a breath, as if it would help him speak, but he seemed to find himself unable to, still. He took another. Another still. One more. When he looked up, his golden eyes passed over Aziraphale, instead looking to the ceiling, and a wateriness betrayed itself in them. He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple battling up and down. He couldn’t have Aziraphale’s attention any more fervently than he did now. A bomb could go off and surely it wouldn’t stray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-... I didn’ mean it. Didn’t really wanna-.... I was just a dumb, angry lad,” he struggled to explain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked on, attentive concern etched deep in his features. Then blue eyes assessed the way the redhead was holding his forearms so tightly against his stomach, and flashed back up to that beautiful, distressed face. Did he really think he had to explain himself? Why should he feel the need to tell Aziraphale the story? Clearly he wasn’t seeking comfort, he was fulfilling some sense of duty the doctor couldn’t quite understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had just found out…,” he choked before losing his nerve, looking about in panic. Insecurity. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh oh oh darling, you’re safe here. Whatever you need, you’ll have it, just show me what that is, and it’s yours. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything’s alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale said with all the certainty in the world, and a minuscule amount of tension slipped from the redhead’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To some extent, he knew exactly what he needed. He needed to be wrapped up in strong arms, to be pulled close to hear a strong and steadily beating heart. To have a gentle rain of even softer affirmations in his ear. He needed room to feel, but the closeness to know he was protected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet Aziraphale couldn’t give that. Cruel, really. But he was ready for whatever he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>give. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched downward, and again he was unable to look at Aziraphale, eyes flicking past him and welling up more. Oh- so he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale could see. He knew that the moment he let him in, he wouldn’t be able to shut him out again. The second he let the pain out, it’d keep coming until Aziraphale soothed it all away. Something held him back from asking for that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just a stupid kid,” he half-sobbed out the repetition with a finality, hand raising to scrub over his mouth as he struggled to reign in his emotion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had done it. That’s what he needed- affirmation that he hadn’t lost the doctor’s respect, and it gave Aziraphale’s heart a hideous, painful twist. Truly, was he so afraid that he would be judged for the worst thing that had ever happened to him? Did he really think Aziraphale looked at him as </span>
  <em>
    <span>less </span>
  </em>
  <span>for a decades old trauma? How long had he lived with these fears?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been living with them, in any case,  and he needed reassurance that it was all bullocks. There wasn’t a lick of truth in the whole ordeal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know, Crowley, I always have been a staunch believer that even one significant failure can lead us to an inevitable myriad of the best successes of our lives. It might even be so impactful that years afterward, a stranger might come into our lives and,” he took a deep breath, leveraging a very fond, open look at Crowley, “find himself remarkably grateful we did fail.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley ducked his head, but finally met Aziraphale’s gaze. His own was still watery, but oh it was that soft, open, vulnerable gaze that the blonde found himself falling deeper and deeper into at an alarming rate. A small smile graced that freckled face, and with one sigh, all the pain, fear, anxiety, and shame slipped away. Aziraphale exhaled in kind, feeling much uplifted. Every time he was able to provide for Crowley’s needs, it gave him a high that felt like walking on air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes two of us; not having met you? Perish the thought,” the redhead mumbled coyly, knocking on the door frame with a cheeky grin before departing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>determined to make this difficult. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A nightmare of a morning had flowed seamlessly into a nightmare of an evening, and, barring his success in keeping Crowley’s day from following the same path, Aziraphale found himself worse for wear. Near the end of it, he learned the day prior he’d missed an embolism, as the patient’s only symptoms were that of a cold. Just before his day had ended the woman had been rushed to Celestial Harmonies only to die in the ambulance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d seen better days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the shadow of Gabriel Winger fell over his desk, he found himself struggling to decide if it was possible for his day to get worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re here to gloat, I assure you I can’t feel much lower,” he huffed, moodily slapping his fingers on the keyboard to enter the last of his orders before leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I thought you looked like you needed a drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s gaze snapped to Gabriel, his eyebrows shooting so high that the taller man laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on. I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>much of an asshole. A shitty day deserves a stiff drink. Won’t take no for an answer.” His hands were in his jacket pockets, and he held them out to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the older doctor could have done just fine without the last sentiment, he had to admit a glass of bourbon sounded absolutely divine about now. With the purse of his lips and a final slow appraisal of Gabriel (he didn’t want to give in too easily) he sighed, standing to gather his things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On their way out, he excused himself to quickly duck his head into the office overlooking the waiting room. At least Crowley’s spirits seemed to be better, as he was currently splayed out, feet up on the desk, rocking back in an office chair in a manner that made Aziraphale very nervous. Always one to spit in the face of physics, Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked gently on the door frame, a bored gaze turned to him from where it’d been focused on flipping a red plastic cup over at the edge of the desk. Golden eyes brightened upon finding Aziraphale, and Crowley sat up a bit straighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Hey. Headin’ home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes- well, no. I’m going to get drinks with Winger, if you can believe it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gawked for a moment before holding up a finger and retrieving his phone from his pocket, pretending to thumb through it, “Hold that thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what, exactly?” Aziraphale asked, mildly amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just checking the temperature of Hell. Must’ve frozen over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale chuckled softly, folding his hands behind his back, “Yes, I do hope you remembered to turn on the heat in your flat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley barked out a surprised laugh, throwing his hands in the air, “Aw, bugger all. Knew I’d forgotten something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde admired the pretty, relaxed smile on his face, finding himself quite dizzied by it. He looked down for a moment to collect his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, then. I thought I’d check in before I’m off. Anything you need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, t’go back on the floor. Those prats are going to set fire to my A&amp;E. Dunno what they’re fuckin’ doin’!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gave a tired laugh, feeling the slightest bit better at the victory. Just as he’d hoped, Crowley was itching to get back to work, insecurities long forgotten. His gaze glanced over the waiting room, something just below half-capacity now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve only a couple hours left on your shift. Surely, it won’t be burnt to the ground by the time you get back tomorrow morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley huffed, pointing a pen menacingly at the doctor, “I’m holdin’ you to that. A single bit of ash and you’re going to find yourself at the mercy of my wrath.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale raised a mildly amused eyebrow, “I’m quaking in my oxfords.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The redhead sucked his teeth, but then grinned, dropping his chin into a palm. “You’re not as fun now that you’re not scared of me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earned more honest amusement from the doctor, and he let out a laugh, “Dear boy, I'm wildly curious what on earth gave you the impression that I was ever afraid of you to begin with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wuh- well of course you were. Why wouldn’t you be? I’m scary! A bloody menace, me!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yes, a menace that’s able to discuss every transformer at length with toddlers, dances the time-warp, and paints the faces of old ladies after they’ve passed. I do hope the police have been warned about you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of Crowley’s mouth turned up, and good lord- he didn’t even try to hide the wild, unadulterated affection with which he practically waterboarded Aziraphale. The doctor’s heart picked up his pace, and he couldn’t help but give a pitiful smile back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He longed for this. He wanted to have it every day. He wanted every shameful sin and haunting mistake to be washed away in sweet banter and soft swirling galaxies. Then Crowley’s expression transitioned into that of concern. Oh, really, was he that incapable of putting himself first for more than a few hours? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright, angel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy!” a loud bang on the glass interrupted. Crowley whipped about with fire in his eyes to glare at the man in the waiting room. The recipient of his wrath looked as if he was considering second-guessing himself, but powered through it, leaning against the glass, “Is that a doctor? I want to talk to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s shoulders hunched forward with protective aggression, voice lifting into a hiss, “You wanna add auditory hallucinations to your list of ailments? ‘Cause I’m pretty goddamn positive I didn’t call your fucking name!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dear lord, his code-switching truly was a sight to behold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been here two hours! My leg is broken. Scale of one to ten? My pain’s an eleven! I need something for it </span>
  <em>
    <span>now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>At least gimme a nurse that ain’t bloody </span>
  <em>
    <span>rubbish!”  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No other nurses. Hospital’s clean out. Shame, innit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale tried not to laugh, certainly that’d be rude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to call someone about this!” the man threatened, red-faced as he paced on the other side of the glass, forgetting the bother of faking a limp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley leaned forward, swaying his head back and forth with a facetious sneer, “Call whomever you’d like. Call the bloody Queen for all I care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a great growl of frustration, his opponent at last threw his arms in the air before storming the exit. Aziraphale looked on in great amusement, usually missing the turning away of trouble-makers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I really ought to be on my way, but you should be careful throwing about such temptations. I have it on good authority Her Majesty’s guard doesn’t hold you in high esteem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley snorted and grinned, waving a dismissive hand, “Enemies everywhere, me. Don’t bother keeping up, anymore. Night, angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Crowley.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale would have expected Gabriel to bring them to one of those obnoxious bars young people liked- one with bright lights and acrylic counters and loud bebop music. Much to his surprise, they landed at a very high-end tavern that was much more to his tastes. The lighting was dim, but not dark. The wood was clean and stained a deep cherry, and the booths had fine leather upholstery. The music was quiet and tasteful and the barkeep wore a waistcoat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My, what a lovely tavern,” Aziraphale hummed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sound surprised,” Gabriel laughed, allowing the blonde to choose between the bar and a booth. They slid into a booth, a young lady quickly appearing to serve them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Diet vodka tonic,” Gabriel ordered, turning to Aziraphale to explain, “Try to limit my empty calories, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale knew, but he was quite sure it was impossible for him to find the sentiment any less agreeable. He inquired after their whiskey selections and wound up ordering an aged smoked scotch that sounded quite enticing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was awkward silence for a time as they waited for their drinks. Aziraphale wondered what had possibly driven him to accept the invitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault, you know. The pulmonary embolism. No physician with any sense would have ordered scans for cold symptoms. Most patients would turn them down, anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It came from a good place, Aziraphale was sure, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He bit his tongue to keep from lashing out that no physician with any humanity could shrug off the responsibility of a patient’s death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is my fault, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Aziraphale finished. An awkward silence followed. He supposed that was his responsibility. Perhaps he wasn’t being very sporting. “I do quite envy your ability to stay emotionally distant from your work. Of course, I personally find empathy very important when understanding a patient’s pain, but I can see where there may be potential benefits of objective analysis.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel raised a brow at the peculiar peace offering and shrugged, accepting his vodka tonic as their drinks were delivered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s… learned. A survival technique.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Aziraphale’s turn to assess Gabriel, blonde brows slightly raising, “You mean, you used to connect with patients?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes. Of course. Everyone who becomes a physician wants to play the hero, don’t they? But it just bites you in the ass. You risk your neck trying to help someone, they act appreciative that you take the risk, but the second it doesn’t work out they sue you for taking a chance. You get attached to a patient, you believe they’re gonna make it, they don’t. A person confides in you, you carry the secret, it comes out and the family blames you. It’s ridiculous. Couldn’t live like that anymore. Had to start over. Establish boundaries. Play by rules. Focus on the facts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had to move all the way to London for that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel smirked, “What gave it away? The accent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughed, “Must have done. I’d say your brusque personality is quite in-line with that of a native Londoner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shared a quiet laugh. The built figure shrugged a muscled shoulder, “I mean. That was part of it. I actually come from a long and prestigious line of doctors. Moved from Orange County in California.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The older of the pair pondered over this, finding it explained quite a lot. The younger seemed like he came from privilege, yet he couldn’t help but be intrigued that he’d left that life behind. “Oh? Didn’t wish to carry the torch?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel frowned, which looked quite strange after only seeing placating smiles there, and shook his head, “No. It’s infuriating, You can’t imagine what it’s like, having someone stare over your shoulder, waiting for the slightest slip-up. Having to fight to meet up with these impossible expectations without ever being asked what </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’d be surprised how much I could understand that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winger looked up, mildly surprised, but seemed to find some humility, clearing his throat. “Yes. I guess the ‘meeting-expectations’ struggle isn’t a unique one in our field.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite,” Aziraphale hummed, although he couldn’t help but suspect that, much like himself, those expectations perhaps bled past a professional capacity, into his personal life. It wouldn’t be a surprise. With his lifestyle and behavior, he seemed to live with the goal of proving something rather than enjoying his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It quite reminded Aziraphale of the many closeted individuals he’d met, and he found himself wondering if perhaps Gabriel held a commonality with them. The overcompensating ‘straight’ man. Wouldn’t be the first he’d come across. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, Winger, I must confess I was quite surprised at your offer. I rather thought you were determined that we should be enemies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The brunette looked up, his grin reappearing, and tilted his head in consideration before raising his glass to hold up to Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know what they say. If you can’t beat ‘em.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale grinned back, raising his glass in turn. “And may I ask what inspired you to opt for joining?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The figure across him huffed, rolling his eyes. Clearly he wasn’t in love with the idea of explaining. He did anyway, “I may be competitive, but I’m not an idiot. The A&amp;E used to be a doghouse. It’s Heaven now, comparatively. And I mean, anyone who can get Crowley at their beck and call is a force to be reckoned with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde let out a surprised laugh, tilting his head, “I suppose that’s fair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Though... ,” Gabriel hesitated, and it became clear he was preparing to share a personal opinion, whether or not it was welcome, “You’ve been distracted, I noticed. For a couple weeks. I mean I have to give it to you, you don’t let it affect your work, but it’s there.”</span>
</p><p><span>Aziraphale took a moment to survey him. He wasn’t about to discuss this for the first time with </span><em><span>Gabriel Winger </span></em><span>as a confidant,</span> <span>surely.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Some guy got your attention?” Gabriel grinned, raising a brow in challenge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright then, perhaps he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave a defiant huff, “If you must know, there is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So? Go for it,” Winger shrugged as if it was no big thing, taking another sip of his drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. The interest is mutual, I know that much, but he’s really rather skittish. The best course of action here is certainly to establish a friendship first, but it might take some time and I confess it’s driving me slightly mad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want my advice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have reason to believe you’re going to impart it either way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel gave a sharp grin. Aziraphale had to own up to it; while this dynamic was bizarre, mismatched, and a bit contentious, some part of him was somewhat enjoying the combative company. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get it out of your system with someone else.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, I didn’t mean me! I’m not- I don’t bend that way,” he rushed to defend far too eagerly, nose wrinkled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde couldn’t help but scoff in amazement at the gall, “I should hardly think so. You’re not exactly my type.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel shifted from disgust to offense, surely not used to the idea that anyone attracted to men wouldn’t find him to be a golden god. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what exactly doesn’t measure up about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, are you interested?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more muscled man started to get frustrated and flustered before realizing at last that Aziraphale was antagonizing him, a tickled grin on his face. He calmed down, letting out a disbelieving laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got some nerve, Fell. I was talking about dating apps.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t think so,” Aziraphale sighed, allowing the casual conversation to continue, “I really am rather determined to gain the affections of this particular person.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel snorted, “Well I’m not saying you should quit. Who am I to deter a man in love? I’m just saying if you’re getting antsy and wanting a fling or just a date or…whatever it is you’re into, there’s nothing wrong with some side action while you hold out. It might make it easier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale considered the proposition and found perhaps there was an inkling of sense in it, after all. Perhaps it would dull the ache a bit were he able to find some companionship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How exactly do these apps work?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winger looked very pleased with himself, holding out his hand demandingly, “Here. Give me your phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon the extension of the original invitation out, Aziraphale had thought that they wouldn’t have spent more than five minutes together in the pub before they would descend into bitter insults and storm out in opposite directions. Yet over an hour passed where Gabriel downloaded a couple apps for him, showed him how they worked, and much to his embarrassment, got him the number of a gent that had been eyeing him from down the bar. Before he was quite sure what was happening, they were competitively exchanging bizarre dating anecdotes and laughing over them, onto their third round of drinks, now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, if you’re looking for convenience, I’m pretty sure Crowley’s into you. But I’d be careful with that, I’m sure he bites.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope he does, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale found himself thinking with a thrill, trying not to appear too excited. So even the most self-interested of coworkers could see Crowley’s attraction. The thought consoled him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that right?” he asked in amusement, looking down at his phone and swiping left on a man with a backwards baseball cap and far too many piercings in his face, “Erm- thank you, Winger. Really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The younger doctor looked a bit surprised, but a smile appeared on his face and he gave a soft laugh, “Sure, Chief. You’ve got a wing-man, if you need one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Aziraphale was shocked to find there seemed to be only truth in the statement. How peculiar, that in his few months of living in London, it should be his bitter workplace rival that ended up as his wing-man and confidant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beggars couldn’t be choosers he reflected while observing Gabriel argue with the server that he ‘wasn’t an idiot’ and had noticed the tonic they’d switched him to was non-diet. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as all that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found a peculiar brand of fondness twinge in his chest, and lifted his glass to take a sip of his scotch.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To new friends, however unlikely.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The real title of this chapter should be "Aziraphale Fell: No Brat Left Untamed" lmao </p><p>I hope you guys enjoy it! In a VERY rare turn of events, I already have the next chapter ready and am I T C H I N G to share it. We'll see how far I get with waiting ;3</p><p>Thank you as always for your lovely comments ;o; they make me so happy and more excited than you can imagine to keep working on the story.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fucking London weather. It’d been fine earlier today- a bit dreary as always. The weatherman had predicted no rain until tomorrow, and yet here Crowley was, driving through a bloody flash-flood to meet a few of his friends for Korean barbecue in Soho. </p><p>The flooded streets and ridiculously high winds didn’t stop him from speeding through the streets. What did, however, was the poor sod on the walk mad enough to drown himself to death and blow away into the ridiculous inland hurricane. Crowley braked, slowing to lean in and see what prat was crazy enough to be out in this weather, only to find to his minor horror it was not only someone he knew, but the very object of his affections. </p><p>He immediately rolled down the window, leaning to shout as loud as he could out of it, “Angel! <em> What the bloody Hell are you doing?”  </em></p><p>Aziraphale looked over at him, water pouring down his face, and his eyebrows shot up. He laughed at his own expense, flapping his hands in the air in a gesture of defeat before shouting back over the high winds and thunder, “Well I <em> was </em>walking!” </p><p>“Get in, then!” Crowley chastised, disbelief crossing his face. </p><p>The doctor didn’t dally about at the offer, rushing into the car as Crowley closed the window. He was positively drenched, face ruddy from falling victim to the horrid weather, and looked rather flustered upon taking in his surroundings and realizing what a nice car he was sitting in. </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry. Dear, I’m dripping all over,” he sighed in discontentment. </p><p>“Well don’t fuss, I told you to get in, remember? Where to?” </p><p>Aziraphale gave him a small, appreciative smile that had Crowley’s stomach doing backflips, he couldn’t help but grin back. </p><p>“Mayfair. Mount and South Audley. I can’t thank you enough, dear boy. How awfully sweet.”</p><p>Crowley felt his face heat and smiled sheepishly at the praise, trying not to preen. Really, did he think he’d abandon him in the middle of a fucking monsoon? </p><p>“‘S nothing, angel,” he assured before pulling away from the curb, glancing over at Aziraphale, “You headin’ to- er- ‘s not ‘church’ in Judaism, is it?” </p><p>“No, synagogue- how did you know I was Jewish?” </p><p>“Er- the- uh-,” Crowley said stupidly before ceding to point at Aziraphale’s head. </p><p>Blue eyes fixed at his finger in confusion for a moment before realization crossed his face, and he laughed, reaching to touch the light blue and tan crocheted cap atop his head, “Oh! My kippah.” </p><p>“Yes! That- kippah- knew that, tip of my tongue before you so rudely interrupted me,” Crowley rushed, poking fun at himself. </p><p>Aziraphale laughed, nodding, “Oh, I’m sure you did, my dear. How beastly of me.” </p><p>Crowley’s heart washed over in relief, both at Aziraphale’s mercy at his ignorance and the fact that <em> this </em>was his Friday-night commitment. Here he’d been afraid there might be a boyfriend in the picture, or dating, in any case. </p><p><em> Just because he’s not tonight doesn’t mean he isn’t at all </em>, he scolded himself for getting his hopes up. It was true, wasn’t it? Aziraphale was a catch; of course he was probably dating. </p><p>“Dun really know anything about religion- er, any of ‘em,” he mumbled before he could stop himself. What a ridiculous conversation starter. </p><p>“Oh? Do you like that they raised you secular? I’d imagine with your aversion to organized groups, you’d be pleased to maintain your own beliefs.”</p><p>Crowley looked back and forth from the road to Aziraphale’s face with a blank expression. </p><p>‘They’, he’d said, not ‘your parents’ or ‘your family’. Realization struck him, and he had to fight his instincts very hard not to smash his head repeatedly against the steering wheel.</p><p>“Euuuuuaaaghhh,” he whined, slinking low into his seat, “Fuck me. I’ve gone and told you the sob story about my sorry orphan past, have I?” </p><p>Aziraphale frowned disapprovingly. The expression, along with the insinuation it came with, rocked Crowley to his core. </p><p>“It’s not a ‘sob story’, it’s <em> your </em>story, and I’ll have you know I was very happy to be trusted with it,” he scolded caringly. </p><p>Because he did care, didn’t he? Crowley’s cheeks were burning now. He didn’t know why Aziraphale cared about him, but he’d have to be daft not to have noticed it. He couldn’t imagine he deserved it at all, but that was just Aziraphale- sweet and accepting. </p><p>“Oh,” he said, feeling stupid once again before clearing his throat, “Well, yeah. You’re right on, I’m glad not to have beliefs shoved down my throat, but I uh… can come across a bit stupid sometimes, I think, when religion comes up in conversation.” </p><p>Aziraphale huffed, “I rather think anyone who saw you as such wouldn’t be deserving of your conversation, anyhow.” </p><p>“Oh no?” Crowley slowly grinned, feeling his heart grow warm and soft and open. So noble, his angel, so eager to see the best in him, to think him deserving of more than he was. It was wrong, but it felt so good. Crowley couldn’t get enough of it, and indulged himself to ask, “Why is that?” </p><p>Aziraphale looked him square in the eye, giving him that look he always did before bestowing brutal honesty, and Crowley fought himself not to shy away, to keep looking back at those blue eyes between glances at the road. His heart beat hard and heavy in his chest. He knew he was fishing for praise, but catching it would make him feel too good to mind. </p><p>“Because you’re incredibly clever, Crowley. You have so much to offer. I feel rather sorry for anyone too dull to realize it.” </p><p>Crowley couldn’t help but grin, angling Aziraphale with a look of utter fondness behind his sunglasses. Oh, he <em> was </em>sent from Heaven. Crowley’s very own guardian angel, he liked to think. After all, he was always there when the redhead needed him. Always stopping bad feelings before they came. Always chasing them away when they had him in their clutches. Setting him straight when he was so certain he deserved his fate of falling victim to them. Crowley was rather eager for him to set him straight in whatever ways he liked. </p><p>“So, what? You just walked out in the middle of a monsoon?” </p><p>“Oh, <em> this </em>is hardly a monsoon,” Aziraphale scoffed, leaning to look out the window and earning a snort from Crowley. </p><p>“What is that, then? Coastal snobbery?” </p><p>“Yes, I suppose it is,” the blonde hummed, turning back to give Crowley a smile so warm he was shocked it didn’t dry the man’s soaking clothes instantly. With that in mind, Crowley kicked himself for being so thoughtless, rushing to turn on the seat-warmers and heat. “It just looked a bit overcast when I left, but the temperature was nice enough, so I decided I fancied a walk over a trip on the Tube.”</p><p>“Didn’t you live in the country?” Crowley asked, incredulity betraying itself in his tone and on his face, “Don’t you have a car?” </p><p>“Yes, I can’t bring myself to use it in the city, not with lunatics such as yourself driving like <em> this.” </em></p><p>“Like what?” Crowley played oblivious, speeding up as he cut a hard corner and snickering gleefully when it caused Aziraphale to snatch at the ‘oh shit’ handle. </p><p>“Oy gevalt!” Aziraphale yelped, sinking back into his seat, “I always wondered who the <em> madmen </em>were that sent poor pedestrians into the A&amp;E.”</p><p>“Oh, c’monnnn, angel, I’ve never hit anyone,” Crowley drawled playfully before adding, “Not on accident, anyway. They knew what was coming.” </p><p>“Aren’t you just <em> hilarious, </em>my dear?” Aziraphale bickered and closed his eyes tight, just serving to draw another laugh from Crowley, “To think- I’ll die before I even get to synagogue.” </p><p>“Don’t despair just yet, angel- here we are,” Crowley supplied, cutting the wheel to slide to a screeching halt at the entrance. </p><p>Aziraphale clutched his heart, gave a great sigh of relief upon realizing he was still alive, and glared at Crowley’s debonair smile. He couldn’t be angry but for a short while before ceding a small grin.</p><p>“Do you know that you’re an absolute devil?” </p><p>“I thought I was so incredibly clever?”</p><p>“Yes, that’s the danger of it, isn’t it?” he laughed shortly. </p><p>Crowley grinned back, preparing to watch the blonde depart, but something seemed to stop Azirpahale as he grasped the door handle. He looked back at Crowley, thoughtfulness swarming in his warm blue eyes as he gave that sweet, considerate gaze that made the nurse’s brain short-circuit. “You could come in, if you’d like.” </p><p>The offer surprised Crowley so much he forgot to tamper his display of it. He grew flustered at his own reaction, clearing his throat and shaking his head, “Oh no. I doubt someone like me would be welcome.” </p><p>“Whatever do you mean, someone like you?” Aziraphale challenged. Crowley blushed and felt his heart hammer, well aware the doctor wouldn’t stand for him slandering himself. He searched for a way to explain it that didn’t sound self-deprecating, but he came up at a loss. Seeming satisfied at having made his point, the blonde continued, looking sweetly at Crowley, “There’s no pressure at all, dear, but the thing is- everyone’s welcome, here.” </p><p><em> Everyone’s welcome to you, aren’t they, angel? </em> Crowley thought, <em> Even me?  </em></p><p>It was so honest, so genuine, so selfless, all the things that encompassed Aziraphale as a person. Crowley wanted to park, to take his hand and walk in with him. To watch him pray and hear him sing and witness in awe the very beauty of his soul. </p><p><em> Everyone </em>he thought again, and a pain cut in that made him draw back. He wasn’t special, not really. Aziraphale was just kind enough to treat everyone like they were. Everyone was ‘my dear’. Everyone’s story and pain mattered. Everyone deserved thoughtfulness and protection. That soft gaze sharpened in observance, and Crowley cleared his throat, turning his face away as if it would stop Aziraphale from seeing him.</p><p>“Uhm. I don’t think so,” he said, anxiety bubbling up over the fear that he might disappoint or offend the man he admired. He rushed to add, “but thanks, angel.”</p><p>Instead of receiving a sad face or that disappointed gaze that made him feel so very wretched, Aziraphale just gave a warm, wide smile, and a bit of the anxiety was washed away. Crowley took a deep breath and relaxed, marveling as the blonde reached over and put his hand over his own, resting on the middle console, “Thank <em> you, </em>Crowley. I’m sure you had better things to do. You really are such a dear heart.” </p><p>With a wink and a gentle squeeze to the hand, he crawled out of the car, rushing in through the doors ahead. </p><p>Crowley stared down at his hand where he’d been touched, the flesh there tingling warmly. He felt his face heat, heard his pulse rocket, and leaned back in the seat. It was okay that he wasn’t special; he’d do anything for Aziraphale to keep making him feel like he was. </p><p>“‘Better things to do’,” he scoffed to himself, pulling out his phone and analyzing the weather radar. Looked like it’d be several hours yet before the storm subsided. </p><p>“As fucking if.” He pulled up the group text with Faust and Sable, shooting them a message that something had come up and finding a place to park. </p><p>He was leaning back with his feet on the dashboard an hour and a half later, playing a game on his phone as he listened to a podcast about gardening. Several shouts drew his attention upwards, and he perked up, watching groups of people run from the entrance. He waited until he saw a flash of tan and blue before leaning out the window and shouting, “Oy! Angel!” His entire upper body got soaked with the pounding rain in the process. </p><p>Aziraphale looked more shocked than the first time when he saw him, but didn’t waste time making his way back into the passenger seat. </p><p>“Did you really <em> wait </em>for me?” he questioned, slightly out of breath from his sprint. He looked no less bemused than a moment before as he eyed Crowley’s now-wet hair sticking to his forehead.</p><p>“Well don’t get a big head about it!” Crowley teased, “I wasn’ just sittin’ ‘round doing nothing! Went to get snacks, after all.” </p><p>True enough, two takeaway cups of bubble tea sat between them, a Thai tea and a Strawberry. </p><p>“Take your pick, I like either.” </p><p>Aziraphale smiled back up at Crowley, shaking his head while the spaces next to his eyes crinkled in that way that made Crowley dizzy, “I can’t imagine what I’ve done to deserve this.”</p><p>“Oh- it’s- er.”</p><p>Shit.</p><p>He really should have prepared an excuse for this. What was he, a stalker? Sitting outside without reason and with unrequested snacks while waiting for Aziraphale to finish church? Synagogue? Whatever? </p><p>“Just- storms, y’know? Plans got cancelled.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really. They <em> had </em>been cancelled. By him. “Anyway, figured you might appreciate a ride home.” </p><p>Aziraphale raised an amused brow. Shit, he saw through him. In any case, his expression slid into a grateful, shining smile, and he nodded, “That would be very much appreciated, indeed.” </p><p>He picked up the Thai tea, and Crowley took note, taking the strawberry happily for himself. Aziraphale gave his directions, and they chatted and teased on the short ride there. Crowley compulsively skipped most of the songs on his playlist, not realizing until just now how many bloody love songs were mixed into it. By the time Aziraphale called for him to pull over, he’d settled on ‘A Kind of Magic’, by Queen. </p><p>He peered out the window to find a lovely old bookshop and fixed Aziraphale with a dubious look, “Have shopping to do, angel?”</p><p>Aziraphale gave him a confused glance for a moment before letting out an, “oh!” and bursting into laughter.</p><p>“No, no, dear. My flat’s over the shop,” he explained, leaning over Crowley to look up at it and then over at the awning next door, ripped away in the vicious wind and rain. </p><p>The redhead’s heart beat wildly in his chest, and for a moment he became dreadfully worried that the blonde might hear it at this proximity.</p><p>“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Aziraphale mumbled.</p><p>“You said ‘fiddlesticks’,” Crowley snorted, “Wassit, then?”</p><p>“It’s coming down terribly isn’t it? Why don’t you come inside and we can warm up?</p><p>Crowley turned to look at him, his face a matter of centimetres away. <em> Surely </em>he could hear that vicious pounding now. What was this? Warm up together? This was surely the most obvious proposition he’d ever encountered. </p><p>He cursed himself, knowing he ought to be smooth and charming for this, but it was so unexpected! So much. So fast. He thought, were he to get the opportunity of a lay with this gorgeous man, he’d certainly have to do much more than this to earn it. Heat rushed to his face, and his eyes fixated on Aziraphale’s mouth. Before he could stop himself, he was biting his own lip. </p><p>And then Aziraphale was laughing- laughing at <em> him, </em> and before he could feel crushed over it, the blonde was giving him that absolutely <em> wicked </em>bastard grin that made him feel as woozy as a Victorian lady in the presence of a gentleman caller without a chaperone in sight. </p><p>“You’re shivering, my dear, and no wonder- your shirt and hair are soaked. A warm towel and fire are in order, and I was rather thinking I’d give you dinner in turn for taking so much time out of your day,” he explained, an undeniable graveliness lacing his words despite leaning out of Crowley’s space.</p><p>“Oh,” Crowley muttered, only minorly mortified at the devastating embarrassment of the misunderstanding. He would hide his face, if he were not paralyzed by shame. He managed a tiny head shake and croaked, "It was nothing." </p><p>“Consider it a favor, then. It’d do my heart good not to have to worry about you getting home safely, or staying in cold, wet clothes and catching ill.” </p><p>Crowley was sure this was it for him, that his heart was going to implode and he would die right there. Before he knew quite what he was doing, it seemed his body reacted to the sweetness and generosity all on its own, and he was whining some bizarre noise of assent. </p><p>Aziraphale smiled warmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, “Oh thank you, dear boy. Aren’t you a treasure.” </p><p>
  <em> Too much. Too much nice. Don’t deserve it. Gonna walk into the river, now. </em>
</p><p>Crowley felt grateful for the brief opportunity he had to recollect himself after Aziraphale shut the passenger door behind him upon exiting the vehicle. The redhead scrubbed his hands over his face, taking a deep breath and releasing a mangled scream into his palms before pulling away.</p><p>“Okay. You can do this. Don’t be a fucking knob.” </p><p>He climbed out of the car, holding an arm over his head as he rushed after Aziraphale into the store. </p><p>“Whoa,” he said instantly, slowing to take it all in. The shop was huge- beautiful. Old, and cluttered. But there was something magical about it, even in the dim light. Crowley felt as if he’d stepped through the wardrobe and found himself in Narnia. He walked into a beautiful marble compass lying under a massive circular skylight, turning in a slow circle to find piles and shelves stocked full of books from what must have been several different centuries. </p><p>Sexy librarian, indeed. </p><p>“Do you like it?” </p><p>Crowley jumped, nearly forgetting Aziraphale was there. He turned to find him standing on the bottom step of a spiral staircase, looking on with a ridiculously fond expression. </p><p>“Y-yes. I mean- ‘s it yours?” </p><p>“Somewhat. I gave a loan for its purchase and opening to a skilled friend some years ago and he allowed me to store some of my more valuable pieces here in place of interest. Of course the flat was vacant when I came to London, and living here allowed me to bring my whole collection. I’m something of an antiquarian,” he explained, looking over all the books with- if Crowley wasn’t very mistaken- the same level of fondness with which he looked at him. </p><p>“Um… antiquarian as in antiques?” he asked, feeling quite stupid, but he’d spent years chasing Bealz around to different oddities and antiques shows. He’d heard the word, but for the most part, he only saw books about.</p><p>“Yes, that’s right, dear boy. It can also be used when referring to a collector of rare books.” </p><p>“Right, that’s new, then,” Crowley said, relieved that he hadn’t been entirely wrong. He took another look over his shoulder, then up at the rain soothingly washing over the skylight, before following Aziraphale up the stairs. </p><p>Aziraphale unlocked a door and opened it, brushing a quick kiss to his fingers and pressing them on a small plaque adhered to the upper right of the doorway before entering and flicking on the light-switch.</p><p>“Here it is,” he sighed, sweeping his arm before turning to find a very confused and uncertain Crowley lingering in the hallway before the door frame and staring at the plaque. </p><p>Crowley tore his gaze away when he heard Aziraphale laughing softly again, looking up to find gentle eyes appraising him. “Don’t fuss over that, dear boy, just come in.” </p><p>He obeyed, trailing after, gently nudging the door shut, and shoving his hands into his pockets. </p><p>“There we are, that’s better!” Aziraphale praised cheerfully before bustling off in a different direction. He came back quickly with a towel and a clean, soft blue shirt, extending it to Crowley with a bit of a flush to his features, “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t have anything to suit you better.” </p><p>“Aw, shut it, this is more than I deserve already.” </p><p>Then his angel was transitioning back to that displeased glare and it had Crowley found himself, against his most loud, boisterous, defiant nature, falling quiet and throwing the towel over his face to dry his hair, mumbling behind it a small, “I mean, thanks. Really, angel.” </p><p>When he emerged again, a more approving smile was there, and he couldn’t help but smile back, shivering at the warmth it sent bursting through his torso despite the sopping fabric it was coated in. </p><p>“Here, let me put your shirt in the drier for you, dear boy.” </p><p>Crowley complied, peeling the soaking article up his lean torso. He tried to put on a subtle bit of a show, but nearly pouted when he yanked the fabric over his head just to find Aziraphale was politely averting his gaze across the room. He huffed quietly and handed it over, watching the blonde meander away. </p><p>He was left to himself while the other presumably changed into dry clothes. The redhead dried his skin off with the impossibly soft towel, pulling the shirt over his head and lifting the neckline to bury his face in the fabric. A deep inhale didn’t give him the scent of Aziraphale that he longed for, but did give away his laundry detergent, and it was enough that Crowley had to urge himself to stop before Aziraphale came back and found him smiling like an idiot and nuzzling into the borrowed item. </p><p>He found a small mirror in the hallway and adjusted his drying locks the best he could. He hated when they fell flat over his forehead, but they did frame his cheekbones quite nicely.</p><p>Afterwards, he began meandering around the flat, eager to explore. It seemed to be the only one over the building, and while oddly arranged to accommodate the bookstore loft, it was nearly more spacious than his own place. It was cozy, with old but comfortable looking furniture and a collection of a myriad of styles of art and decor. There were pictures everywhere, unlike Crowley’s own apartment, and he wandered around to admire them. </p><p>He discovered quite a bit. He learned that Aziraphale had been modest about the amount of friends he had. He found that he was greatly beloved at his old hospital- no big surprise there. Most interesting of all, he found a photo of Aziraphale standing on the beach in swim trunks, standing proudly with his broad form almost entirely revealed. Oh he was so soft, with a gently rounded belly, but an obvious power lay beneath, his muscles visible beneath the flesh of his broad upper forearms. Crowley barely suppressed the urge to nick it. No way that wouldn’t be noticed. </p><p>He tore himself away after committing the image to memory for future use and found a succulent near the window, leaning down to look at it. “Hullo. Surely angel waters you, no bloody excuse lookin' that fuckin’ dull. You should consider yourself pretty goddamn lucky to be under his thumb.” </p><p>It took some motivation not to nick the little cactus, too. Not that he would keep it- not this one. Just take it home and encourage some sense into it before returning it to the doctor. </p><p><em> Assuming he’d ever invite you back, </em>he scolded himself.</p><p>In the meantime, he busied himself with starting a fire up in the hearth. </p><p>“My dear, do you ever allow anyone to do anything for you?” </p><p>He jumped at the voice, no matter how soothing. How on earth did Aziraphale move so quietly? He craned his head to look up at him from where he was crouched on the floor, resisting the urge to shy away from the appraising look and thoughtful frown he was receiving. The blonde was in clean clothes, although he hadn’t bothered with replacing his waistcoat, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal thick, strong forearms. The sight turned Crowley’s brain into unfunctional mush.</p><p>“Just- er- I just thought I’d make myself useful.”</p><p>The angel pursed his lips and Crowley ducked his head to scratch the back of his neck.</p><p>“You are a guest, Crowley. You were invited in for your company, not to do chores for me,” Aziraphale scolded, but his voice was so gentle and warm that it encouraged the redhead to relax slightly and meet his gaze again, finding an inspiring smile growing there, “Now, why don’t you come away into the kitchen and I’ll repay your kindness with food? You have been so good for me.” </p><p>Crowley perked up, and an excited little thrill shot up his stomach and through his chest. He hadn’t said ‘to me’, he’d said ‘for me’, and it twisted the redhead’s guts up so intensely he felt faint. He felt good, good about <em> himself. </em>He’d done something right. </p><p><em> Please. He didn’t mean it like that. You can’t do anything for him. Maybe he just likes to care for people. He’s a doctor after all, </em>a warning voice rang in the back of his head.</p><p>The slender figure stood to his feet and preened anyway, smiling coyly and all but purring like a bloody cat. Aziraphale looked pleased.</p><p>
  <em> Calm down. He’s just being friendly.  </em>
</p><p>“I definitely wouldn’t say no to some grub right now,” Crowley tried to shrug off, coolly, chasing to re-obtain his image of nonchalance and trailing after Aziraphale into the kitchen, “Mmm, something smells good.” </p><p>“Ah! That’s the challah, just finished baking before I left,” the blonde hummed, pausing as if he’d just remembered something and turning towards Crowley, “Oh, er, I do like to recite the prayers for Friday night supper, but I can forgo it this week if it’d make you uncomfortable to be around.”</p><p>Crowley shook his head quickly, anxious that he might get in the way of Aziraphale’s faith and eager to see what he’d missed at the synagogue, “No! No, not at all. Please, go ahead!” </p><p>He took off his sunglasses and shoved them in his pocket- something about wearing them felt disrespectful, and it was worth it for the way Aziraphale smiled at him with such unfiltered happiness. He was glad he stayed. He was moved to see Aziraphale, so comfortable and full of faith, even in the midst of an outsider. He was captivated as he lit candles and covered his eyes. He was glad to hear him sing, to hear him recite foreign words he didn’t know the meaning to. There was something warming about it, even more so than the crackling fire in the room over. </p><p>And then they ate. Most of the food was better than Crowley had expected, having been kept warm on the stove and in a crock pot. Crowley managed to bite his tongue when the compulsion to offer tips arose, not everyone enjoyed cooking as much as he did. Once he got over his squirming over those impossibly arousing <em>noises</em> Aziraphale was hellbent on making, eating felt natural. It felt like it filled a hole in Crowley’s life he hadn’t been aware of. It felt warm and safe and happy. Crowley, before chastising himself for getting romantic, wondered if it was what it felt like to eat with a family. </p><p>They talked about their days, about work. Crowley told Aziraphale about his friends, all the bizarre ways he’d met them despite them being from all wild walks of life. He talked about the hijinks they got into. He talked at length about Bealz and his love for them. And Aziraphale- he talked about <em> books. </em>He talked about what they meant to him. Why he loved them. How special and dear they were to him.</p><p>It all made Crowley very sad he was so miserable at reading them. More than he could have believed, Aziraphale was a well-read, educated man. Surely, he’d never want someone who couldn’t read a single page, who would have to read a single paragraph over and over until he descended into tears of frustration. </p><p>Then he was being tugged from his chair, and urged to wash his hands. For what reason, he didn’t know, but Aziraphale looked like he was plotting something. He was excited and eager, and bouncing on his toes. So Crowley washed his hands as thoroughly as he did in the hospital, and Aziraphale did the same. The blonde excitedly took his hand again, and began doing that- that acupressure thing on the webbing between his index finger and thumb again as he led him to another room. He didn’t even seem quite aware that he was doing it, but Crowley certainly wouldn’t bring his attention to it, because that might mean him stopping. God forbid it; he was sliding into that happy fuzzy place. It wasn’t a far journey, not anymore, as he was starting to feel that way every time he was in the angel’s light. </p><p>Aziraphale let go with a quiet apology, and Crowley found himself standing in a library. He could hardly believe it, given how stuffed the shelves downstairs were, but here was a room of decent size, filled wall-to-wall with books and glass cases save for a comfortable armchair nestled near the window. </p><p>“This is your private collection?” he guessed. </p><p>“Yes, that’s right. I wanted to show you one of my favorites. It’s quite old, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ by Oscar Wilde. An original print that’s been passed down through my family.” </p><p>Crowley was a mixture of honored and anxious. Surely, he didn’t deserve to be privy to such a special item? He watched As Aziraphale unlocked a case and pulled it out, leaning in close to Crowley to show it to him. There was that smell again. His cologne. Vanilla, almond, bergamot, and jasmine. The redhead had to take care not to lean in and bury his face subconsciously in Aziraphale’s neck. It smelled like comfort. It smelled like-</p><p>
  <em> Home </em>
</p><p>Crowley grew stiff at that thought. The fuck was that? The fuck did it come from? He’d never had a home, at least not a <em> real one- </em>never once in his life. The closest he came was the make-shifts he’d scrounged up with Trix. So what on earth compelled that thought to fling through his head?</p><p>“Oh it’s alright, it won’t bite,” Aziraphale said, pulling him from his thoughts, and Crowley realized all at once he was trying to hand a book to him. </p><p>He paled, shaking his head, “Oh I don’t- I’d hate it I- I wouldn’t-“</p><p>“Come now, it’s the same as holding any precious old heirloom.” </p><p>Crowley hesitated, “Er… no one’s ever let me.” </p><p>Aziraphale looked slightly wounded at the concept and then more motivated than ever. He cooed gentle encouragement, taking the long, thin hands and adjusting them under the book. Crowley became quite certain he would do anything in the world so long as Aziraphale coaxed him in this manner. </p><p>Then he was holding it, enraptured in its age and importance. It was Aziraphale’s favorite thing, and he was permitted to touch it. If he wanted, he could tear it apart, ruin it. Aziraphale trusted him not to. </p><p>
  <em> Aziraphale trusted him.  </em>
</p><p>He tried not to get as emotional as he felt, cursing himself for being so weak, but then he looked into those soft blue eyes, and felt calm wash over his heart. Perhaps being emotional wasn’t so bad, not if sharing it would make Aziraphale look at him with that deep affection he was now. Perhaps if Aziraphale could trust him, he could trust his angel in turn.</p><p>His attention turned back to the book, and he marveled at its age, turning its delicate pages and reading a word or sentence here and there. At last, he realized some time had passed, and he didn’t wish to test the blonde’s patience, instead handing it back. </p><p>“Good thing you fancy books so much, that telly you have out there is absolutely ancient.” </p><p>“It works well enough to get all the modern shows, though I admit it doesn’t get much use. Do you like television?” </p><p>“Awh yeah. I mean, most of it is rubbish, but I have my favorites.”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled gently, placing the book back. Crowley bowed his head in embarrassment, scratching the back of his neck and deciding that feigning confidence was the way to go. </p><p>“Well, I’m always a slut for historical dramas.” </p><p>“Really?” Aziraphale asked in clear surprise, a grin twitching at the edge of his mouth and his eyebrows shooting up as he quietly laughed, “I wouldn’t have ever expected. Such as what?”</p><p>“Y’know. The Tudors. Gentleman Jack. Downton Abbey. Things like that.” </p><p>The blonde hummed, “I don’t believe I’ve seen any of those.”</p><p>Crowley froze, mouth falling slack, “You’ve never seen Downton Abbey? You would love it!”</p><p>“Would I?” Aziraphale grinned, seeming quite amenable to Crowley’s whims, “Then I suppose I must see it.”</p><p>“Damn right you must.”</p><p>He tried not to look too put out when Aziraphale informed him it would have to be another time, as he chose to abstain from television while observing Sabbath. Instead they played chess, and Crowley was greatly pleased with himself to find he gave the doctor a run for his money. The redhead tried to tempt the blonde to see the appeal in a drunken match, but Aziraphale was prudent in giving him no more than what they’d had with dinner since he’d be driving, impervious to Crowley’s objections on the matter. They’d only just finished a rematch, each of them winning once, before Crowley noticed the weather had eased up and decided he shouldn’t infringe on Aziraphale’s hospitality any longer. The doctor led him to the front door of the shop where they said their goodbyes.</p><p>“Well, perhaps we could watch that series you mentioned together sometime,” Aziraphale suggested, and Crowley felt his heart soar.</p><p>Aziraphale Fell, with all his intelligence and wit and charm and kindness, wished to spend time with him again. </p><p>Crowley gave the most charming grin he could muster, “Well, y’know I’m free most Friday nights, if you’d care for a ride again.” </p><p>The blonde looked surprised, and mocked hesitation, despite clear yearning in his eyes. Perhaps he didn’t wish to appear too keen by agreeing quickly, and Crowley felt butterflies bursting through his chest at how endearing that idea was. </p><p>“Surely, a wild young thing such as you has more exciting things to get up to on a Friday evening?”</p><p>Crowley ducked his head before grinning again and shaking his head. </p><p>“Please. ‘Young’? I’m forty-two, hardly any younger than you are. And I don’t get up to much, not really. I’d be happy to, honestly.”</p><p>It was only partially a lie. Yes- he had much more objectively exciting events to pursue, but it all fell away in the angel’s light. </p><p>Aziraphale gave that bright grin, that one that obliterated every darkness in Crowley’s heart. </p><p>“Then yes, I daresay I’d quite appreciate it.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’d been three passings of Sabbath now that Crowley had been visiting, and Aziraphale couldn’t find himself any happier with the situation. It hadn’t seemed to occur to the nurse that Aziraphale could continue taking the Tube or walking, but he wasn’t keen to draw his attention to the fact. For the time being, they were growing much closer. Crowley’s anxieties and apprehensions were slowly slipping away, leaving room for that overconfident cockiness and wit and bite to emerge, and Aziraphale found himself very much in danger of falling in love faster and deeper than ever in light of a very real friendship.</p><p>The dates he’d been going on paled in comparison to the beautiful redhead who rightfully earned all his real affections, but they had, as Gabriel predicted, helped him control his impulses to touch and comfort and dote and spoil. </p><p>In the meantime, it seemed building a relationship outside of work aided their relationship inside it. He hardly needed to open his mouth before Crowley knew what he needed and saw to it. Crowley kept unworthy distractions out of his way, and he hardly needed to worry about anything happening below his station. He had complete and utter confidence that his head nurse had it under control, and his trust proved to be well-placed.</p><p>“Dr. Fell!” he heard distantly, immediately turning at the sound of Crowley’s voice. The redhead was currently helping a lovely Indian woman, likely in her 30’s, up onto a bed. </p><p>“Oh good, so he can just write a note saying I’m fine, right? Then I can prove to my brother he was freaking out over nothing,” she sighed in relief. </p><p>Crowley’s expression suggested that was unlikely, and he gave her a reassuring smile, “I wouldn’t be ready to go anywhere too soon, Miss Dalal.”</p><p>“Summer is fine.” </p><p>“Right, Summer, got it. Dr. Fell, Summer here is suffering shortness of breath, cold sweats, back pain, and nausea.”</p><p>“Yeah, so just the flu. ‘S nothing, right, doc?” </p><p>“Tachy high heart rate and elevated BP,” Crowley hummed calmly as he hooked her up to the monitor, nodding to it to allow Aziraphale to observe it. </p><p>“Mm. It’s a good thing you came in, Summer,” Aziraphale mused. </p><p>“Yeah? I can get my flu shot so I don’t get the next one?” she teased.</p><p>“Perhaps, if you’d like. Also, I’m fairly certain you’re having a heart attack.”</p><p>Complete shock crossed her face, and she tried to sit up, turning to look at Crowley. </p><p>“Hey, it’s alright. We’ve got you. What better place would there possibly be for you to go, eh?” Crowley soothed, gently guiding her back down with a handsome grin. </p><p>She laughed softly, only somewhat anxious, “But- but I’m okay?” </p><p>“You will be,” Aziraphale reassured, “Crowley, be a dear and fetch the EKG equipment for me?” </p><p>“Sure thing.” </p><p>Crowley hurried away. Summer’s gaze lingered after. Aziraphale couldn’t fault her, his presence was a very comforting one for patients. </p><p>“I’m only thirty-five,” she turned to tell him, “How could I have a heart attack?” </p><p>“Hmmm, there’s quite a few different factors that could contribute to the formation of a blockage,” he said thoughtfully while pulling on gloves. He turned to find the distress on her face and smiled, “Now, now, none of that. We’ll discuss it all and make sure we send you home with all the information you need to defend yourself against a recurrence. You’ll be just fine, Summer.” </p><p>She nodded again, somewhat comforted, and responded to his encouragements for her to relax as much as possible. Crowley returned quickly, handing Summer a gown for her to change into and pulling the curtain shut so he and Aziraphale might give her some privacy. Afterward he helped attach the 12-lead. </p><p>“I don’t need to like- hold my breath, do I?”</p><p>Crowley flashed a grin up at her, “I should hope not. It does muss up the results if you move or talk, though. Do you need anything before we start?”</p><p>“I- I dunno. Feelin’ a bit light-headed.” </p><p>“Have you eaten today?”</p><p>“Not ‘cause of the nausea…” </p><p>“Dr. Fell, mind if I get Summer here some juice before we start?” </p><p>“That’s alright, Crowley” Aziraphale said patiently. He knew better than to pretend his time was more important than a patient in Crowley’s presence. The nurse made quick work of providing the juice. </p><p>“I thought your name was Anthony?” </p><p>“That’s me, Anthony. Hard ‘t’, the ‘h’ is silent. Only patients call me that.”</p><p>“Now that’s got my attention,” she grinned while sipping on her juice. Crowley smiled, giving her a flirtatious look over that made Aziraphale a bit jealous. He wasn’t supposed to look at other people like that. </p><p>Oh but that wasn’t up to him, was it? They weren’t anything, yet. They were hardly even friends. </p><p><em> I don’t like it as a professional, then, </em>a ridiculous, defiant voice in his head butted in.</p><p>“Right,” he interrupted, “shall we carry on? The sooner we get results the sooner we can address your discomfort, Miss Dalal.”</p><p>“Summer,” she corrected.</p><p>“Of course,” he smiled warmly, starting up the machine. </p><p>She did as Crowley said, staying calm and relaxed and breathing evenly without moving or speaking. Aziraphale was able to get the recording very quickly. Summer and Crowley chatted as he analyzed the results.</p><p>“So only patients? Not your friends?”</p><p>“Nope,” Crowley replied, popping the ‘p’ and leaning over on his stool to prop himself on the arm of the bed, “Guess you’re special.” </p><p>She smiled, “And why do we get the privilege?” </p><p>“Well. Way I figure, patients come in alone on the worst day of their lives. Lots of ‘em don’t have friends or family with them right away. They need to know they have someone there, on their side that’s gonna get them through it. Callin’ me by my first name... I think it helps them feel less alone, especially in a cold, sterile environment surrounded by last names and important titles." </p><p>“So, empathy,” she surmised, throwing a grin his way.</p><p>“If you like,” he said, his amber eyes warm and unshielded as he looked into her brown pair.</p><p>“I rather do. That’s sexy,” she decided aloud. Aziraphale’s head remained still, but his eyes flicked upwards. </p><p>“Is it, now?” Crowley mused, flashing that gorgeous, toothy, debonair smile. </p><p>Aziraphale had to take care not to crush the handheld device in his palm. </p><p>“Right then,” he said with such abruptness that both sets of eyes flashed to him, “Indeed, it seems you have a blockage somewhere. Crowley, let’s move forward with aspirin and thrombolytic therapy.” </p><p>He was quick to remove himself, not wishing for the nurse to find anything suspect. Eagerly, he plunged himself into other cases. Crowley wasn’t his. Crowley could flirt with whoever he liked, and he was incredibly foolish to think that he wouldn’t, especially when Aziraphale was deliberately not moving forward on a romantic level. He took deep breaths and concentrated on his work. Soon, all worries about romance or Summer or his personal life at all were locked away in distant doors in his brain. </p><p>That was, until a couple hours passed. </p><p>“Dr. Fell!” </p><p>He turned at the unfamiliar voice, finding the woman from earlier rushing towards him in her own clothes despite being chased after Adam with a wheelchair. She waved as she approached him, flashing a smile.</p><p>“I wanted to thank you for helping me.” </p><p>“Oh!” he exclaimed in genuine surprise, “Of course my dear. Do take it easy, as I said, yes?”</p><p>“Yes, Dr. Fell,” she laughed, “Netflix and a good cuddle with my dog await. But uhm, I was hoping to thank Anthony, too. Is he around?”</p><p><em> Anthony. </em> How dare she call him that. His jaw nearly flexed when he thought about it, but he refused to let his polite demeanor down. It wasn’t just patients, was it? In fact, he distinctly recalled that <em> he </em>had called Crowley that once- on that night, and that Crowley had practically burst into confetti out of elatedness upon him doing so. </p><p>“No,” he said, thankful he was telling the truth, because he did so hate lying and knew for a fact he would have were Crowley around, “He’s off at lunch with one of our surgeons.” </p><p>“Oh, bugger,” she sighed, looking a big put out, “Well hey!”</p><p>She paused, reaching into her bag for a pen and receipt and scribbling something on the back of it, “Give him this for me? Thanks!”</p><p>Before he had a chance to respond, she thrust the note at him, threw him a grin, and rushed towards Adam with an, “Alright, alright! You’re bloody determined, kid!” </p><p><em> Rude, </em> Aziraphale thought before glancing down at the small crumpled receipt.</p><p>
  <b>Thanks, Anthony-hard-’t’-the-‘h’-is-silent!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>020 7946 0817</b>
</p><p>He stared at the note a long time, working his jaw and holding back tears. He couldn’t fault her, not really. Of course she’d be utterly charmed by Crowley. He sighed, shoving it into the pocket of his white coat. </p><p>Aziraphale went through the rest of the day like that, carrying around the small slip of paper that felt more like a ticking time bomb. It was as heavy as lead, and every step reminded him that it wasn’t his to keep from Crowley. It wasn’t for him to decide. Crowley hadn’t given him consent to decide anything for him. Not yet. Maybe not ever. </p><p>It wasn’t until the end of the day when he was utterly exhausted and walking down the hallway, looking up to find Crowley at the end of it, leaning over the nurse’s station and humming some Queen tune he couldn’t quite place that he figured he should get on with it. He might as well know if he should give up in his efforts- not that he would stop trying to befriend Crowley, but it’d be wise to protect his heart, should romance be off the table. </p><p>He slid up to the counter beside him, finishing up his own case work for a while and taking a deep breath before reaching into his pocket and feeling the slip of paper. The fluorescents seemed more blinding tonight, for some reason. He wasn’t sure how Crowley could stand it. He pulled the note out at last, sliding it over to the redhead and continuing his paperwork without looking up.</p><p>Out of his peripheral, he noticed the red-clad figure go stiff, snatching it up as fast as lightning struck and practically shoving his nose flush to it. Aziraphale’s heart sank. </p><p>“Whose is this?” Crowley asked eagerly.</p><p>“It belongs to that young woman from earlier. Miss Dalal, I believe? She asked me to pass it on to you.” </p><p>“Oh,” the nurse said with decided disappointment that had Aziraphale reeling his quickly beating heart back to shore with vigor. The redhead sniffed and crumpled the paper, tossing it to the bin and going back to his scribbling with a moody mumble of, “Thought it was yours…”</p><p>Aziraphale’s head snapped straight upwards, his gaze slid to the side, and his chin slowly followed until he was looking fully at Crowley, currently <em> sulking </em>as he filled out charts. </p><p>“What was that dear boy?” </p><p>Crowley slapped his hand down flat on his charts, rolling his head to look at Aziraphale and putting on his cheekiest expression before enunciating with no shortage of snark, “I <em> said </em>I’d rather have yours.” </p><p>Aziraphale measured him up, giving a full assessment of the situation and ceding an amused smirk. A decidedly endearing coloring of pink spread to Crowley’s face, but he didn’t let down a bit, defiance clear in his golden eyes, and Aziraphale found the whole ordeal to be entirely too precious. </p><p>“Is that right?” </p><p>“It is. I’m just saying, I’ve been giving you rides every Shabbos for three weeks and I don’t even have your number.” </p><p>“Shabbos?” Aziraphale asked incredulously, feeling a massive grin on his own face.</p><p>“What? Can’t know that word ‘cause I’m a goy?” </p><p>“A <em> goy?” </em>Aziraphale laughed in absolute delight. </p><p>He’d researched. He’d researched and if Aziraphale didn’t feel more smitten than he ever had in his entire life. </p><p>“Is that not right?” Crowley challenged, turning a darker shade likely from the anxiety of being wrong and appearing ignorant.</p><p>“No, it’s right,” he ceded the point.</p><p>“So, I’m just sayin’. Someone might think you’re takin’ advantage.” </p><p>Aziraphale scoffed in disbelief, feeling quite tickled, “A damsel in distress, are you, Crowley?” </p><p>“Hey, I’m just looking out for your reputation, angel.” Crowley held his hands up in a show of innocence, turning back to his paperwork for the fifth time. </p><p>“And what’s stopped you from asking?” </p><p>“Ain’t I doin’ that now?” he snarked without looking up, wrinkling a nose.</p><p>A <em> tantrum, </em>Aziraphale realized. This was a tantrum, the most comical one he’d ever seen. Good Lord, was it cute. </p><p>“Before, I meant.” </p><p>“Well,” Crowley huffed, shrugging a shoulder, “You know how it is. A trend starts up and gives you an excuse to do what you’ve been <em> wantin’ </em>to do but didn’t know you wanted to do.”</p><p>“So you’re pouting because I didn’t give you a number you didn’t know you wanted?” </p><p>“‘M not <em> poutin’,” </em>Crowley pouted. </p><p>“Well I’ve good news for you, my dear. This is very easily amended,” Aziraphale finally gave in, figuring he’d had his fun riling the nurse up. </p><p>Upon retrieving his phone, Crowley dropped his pen to eagerly snatch out his own, looking so positively pleased it gave Aziraphale whiplash. Surely, the affections he had for this man would be the death of him. Numbers were exchanged, and Crowley was smiling at his phone now as he happily typed away at a speed so fast Aziraphale couldn’t help but be impressed by it. </p><p>“Well then, I believe I’m all squared away, I’ll get these to administration and be on my way.” </p><p>“Oh, nah!” Crowley rushed out, swatting the doctor’s hands away and pulling the files towards himself before Aziraphale could argue, “I have to go there anyway, you go home. Go on, then.” </p><p>Aziraphale laughed again, giving him a very fond smile. Crowley slowed his writing to give him a coy, soft grin back. </p><p>“Thank you, Anthony.” </p><p>He was very much afraid the nurse would melt to the floor.</p><p>“Don’t mention it. Night, angel.” </p><p>Aziraphale turned to take his leave, hardly making it very far before he lost his resolve and turned to peek at the man he’d left behind. Crowley was grinning ear-to-ear, practically wiggling as he had his phone snatched back up in his hands and an inch from his nose. </p><p>And he thought Crowley could have fancied anyone else more. At this moment, Aziraphale found the notion to be absolutely ridiculous.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aziraphale: you're SO CLEVER anyone who doesn't realize that is daft<br/>Aziraphale after Crowley beats him at chess: *surprised Pikachu face*</p><p>I had SO MUCH FUN writing this chapter, ngl. The boys are becoming close friends and getting a bit more comfy being direct. Of course, directness for Crowley is accompanied by wild mood swings to accommodate the vulnerability lmao. I will say it was painful to write a girl who is exactly my type just for Crowley to snub her, but writing can challenge all sorts of emotions.</p><p>Had to capture the realness of researching something important to the person you like, even if it's at the risk of coming across as a jackass when you try to talk about it. Considering Aziraphale loves that he did that, he probably shouldn't tease him, but to be fair I probably wouldn't be able to resist flustering Crowley either. </p><p>I'm SO WEAK for jealous Aziraphale, but we're going to get some jealous Crowley, too. Let's just say our lanky boy isn't quite as reserved or poised about his own jealousy xD</p><p>Next up is a chapter from the POV of Mx. Beatrix Bealz, the one and only Garbage Opossum themself.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Drug abuse, child abuse mention</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Beatrix Bealz stood up from the bed, bursting with energy and chipper as ever as they yanked up their torn, high-waisted jeans and fastened them. They flicked on the light, ignoring the half-hearted, breathless groan of protest they gained from the man sprawled out on the bed. A small, wicked seed of a grin was planted on their face, and they found their bra chucked under the cot, replacing it. The sheer black polka dot Dolce &amp; Gabbana blouse was swept off the bed and yanked over their head, the waistline shoved into trousers, and the neck-tie knotted. Bealz took a moment to adjust their black studded strappy heels. Sparing a quick glance in the mirror near the door to check their black pentagram earrings were in place, they latched their hand onto their white coat and flung it over their shoulder with a flourish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the door to the on-call room was slung open, they threw a cheeky grin over their shoulder at the muscled form of Winger, still laid back on the lower bunk and likely seeing stars. God, for as obnoxious as he was, he certainly was pretty to look at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the crisps, mate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gabriel parroted dizzily, a forearm resting over his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Capable of proper manners, are you? Always with the surprises, Winger,” they hummed flirtatiously before stepping out and shutting the door behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today hadn’t been half bad. They’d slept (or stayed rather, their insomnia not allowing much else) at Crowley’s the night prior, playing video games through the night and occasionally looking over to admire how </span>
  <em>
    <span>at peace </span>
  </em>
  <span>he was when he was asleep. He’d even mumbled little ‘angel’s alongside dreamy little sighs. It’d been rather adorable, and whatever happy dreams he’d had led him into an equally chipper mood for breakfast. It’d put Bealz in a rather good mood themself. No life-or-death operations on their table so far, today. Just easy, short procedures, splintered apart by half-episodes of their favorite true crime forensic pathology podcast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they’d been given crisps by a rather selfish physician who, to their knowledge, didn’t do anything for anyone else ever. It was a small gesture, but the offer of junk food was slowly becoming more common over time. Beatrix might have suspected it was just because every time Winger did it, they’d drag him into the nearest room, bend him over the most convenient surface, or shove him to kneel before them as they unfastened whatever bottom they were sporting. However they were beginning to realize the offer was only made when they were feeling light headed or worn down. Thus, the only practical conclusion was that he’d noticed when their salt-wasting disorder was acting up. With snacks came the silent reminder to take their medicine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would only mean he was noticing someone other than himself, and more-so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caring. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’re just fuckin’ ‘round, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bealz reminded themself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘s just Winger, don’t think so bloody hard about it. Not worth analyzing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy, shorty,” interrupted their favorite voice in the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They turned to grin at Crowley, who was rushing fast to their side as they neared the elevators.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy, yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mind if I steal you away a moment?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Business or pleasure?” they asked, looking forward with an idle glance about the A&amp;E. They didn’t know how Crowley did it- hung about all these groaning, ungrateful, </span>
  <em>
    <span>conscious </span>
  </em>
  <span>sods. If they’d had it their way, their favorite person in the world would be up in surgery with them, assisting every moment. But he liked it, didn’t he? The groaning and ungrateful people. Bealz couldn’t comprehend it if they tried. Their focus was much more technical- honed in on anatomy and questions and answers and the beauty in the bare flesh and bones of nature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like you’ve had your share of pleasure,” he teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They grinned back, winking an icey blue eye, “No idea what you mean. Fell know you’re sneakin’ ‘round his back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>sneaking,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley whined with an overly-defensive sneer. Oh, but he wouldn’t, would he? No, perhaps he was a rebel in absolutely every other context, but he was always a good, obedient little pup where Aziraphale was involved. Bea hardly tried to hide their knowing grin. “I asked him if I could take the lead and get a surgical consult and he said he trusted my instincts and would sign off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never been a teacher’s pet before, it was always ‘has potential, needs to fall in line’. How’s it feel?” they mocked a gruff teacher’s voice for the quote, humming the rest with a toothy grin, one nostril wrinkled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, just fuckin’ peachy if it means one more sorry sod walkin’ out of here alive,” Crowley huffed back. They’d succeeded in their mission of flustering him a bit, as that familiar pink hue was present under his freckles despite his attempts to cover it with a scowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s not a very pretty face, sourpuss. Don’t let your </span>
  <em>
    <span>angel </span>
  </em>
  <span>see it, he might second-guess falling madly in love with you,” Beatrix teased, elbowing him. They let him take the lead in direction, remaining fast to his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scowl let up- while it was a practiced expression, he could never manage to fix Beatrix with any sort of disapproval for longer than a few seconds. They were his weak spot. Not that he wasn’t theirs every bit as much. Soon enough, his face slid into a grin, and he scoffed, rolling his golden eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not- He doesn’t- You’re mental. Hope you know that. Anyway, I should fill you in before we get there. Best if you did the consult without me. Clearly a foster kid. Faked his name and pretended to be an adult. Came in here sweating and faint with some awful stomach distension. Dr. Fell diagnosed him with stomach blockage. I think he’s right. The lad insisted stronger than over-the-counter laxatives, but refused to get any scans. Keeps trying to sneak off. It’s been hours now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They gave a thoughtful grunt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You thinkin’ drug mule?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” he stopped, presumably outside the room he’d moved the kid to, “Dr. Fell doesn’t know and I don’t think he’ll ask. You can handle this how you’d like but- if you’re going to get him to agree to surgery…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. You know how good I am at poker.” They crossed their arms, cocking their chin as they appraised their partner, who was starting to fuss the way he did when he was worried. His hands were deep in his pockets, and he was prowling in circles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but Trix- this isn’t just a game for you to win. It’s a kid. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>kids. You need to get his trust.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz huffed, tapping a finger on their bicep. “Thought he said he was an adult?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gave them an unamused frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They rolled their eyes, “Easy with the face, love. I get it. Look, you know I’m rubbish at the… the… emotions and… heart-to-heart stuff. ‘S just for you, Tony. You know that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, then…,” Crowley started, peculiar pupils darting about as he thought of a proper temptation to contrive before landing on Bealz, “kid’s reckless, isn’ ‘e? Just like I was, gettin’ wrapped up in ten different layers of bullshit. Pretend he’s me at that age.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their heart lurched at the idea. Ugh, clever bugger. He knew every bit of them, even the weak spots. He knew how much they longed to go back and take care of him better, help him feel less alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” they sniffed, kicking his shoe, “For </span>
  <em>
    <span>you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You owe me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bit of bickering passed between the pair before Bealz was finally shoved through the door. They turned, briefly, to glare at the window of it, but with a flash of red, there was no one to direct the glower at. So they turned back, finding a young boy shaking like a leaf. He was covered with a light sheen of sweat beneath his hospital gown and was currently tossing and turning with clear discomfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumped at the intruder’s voice, eyes snapping up to look at them. His eyes were a deep brown, similar to his hair, long and shaggy and stuck to his forehead. But he was freckled and scrawny and perhaps it wouldn’t be too difficult to see Anthony in him, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’re you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your surgeon. Dr. Beatrix Bealz.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A defensive scowl took ownership of his face, but Bealz had known their own best friend long enough and well enough to know it was borne of the same source- fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>a surgeon. I haven’t consented to an operation!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Is that right-,” Bealz snatched up his chart, merely glancing at the name before barking a laugh and throwing him a dubious look, “Winston Hill? What? Afraid addin’ the ‘Church’ would give it away as bullocks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paled even further, a feat Bealz would have thought impossible, previously, and turned to stare at the wall, “Dunno what you’re on about, then. Don’t even look like a proper surgeon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y’know that’s funny, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ you don’t look much like a proper adult.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Winston’’s head snapped to them and brown eyes found a mischievous grin on the surgeon’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon then. Not gonna call your social services or bother you to tell me who your foster parents are. We don’t need to involve them to fix this up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glower in their direction continued for a while longer. They scratched their nose, raising their brows in mild amusement at the onslaught of suspicious appraisal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you think I’m a foster kid?” he asked, wariness clear in his voice and body language.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Takes one to know one. Now c’mon. Out with it. Your name. Wassit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A long silence passed between them before he angrily grumbled, “Charlie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, Charlie,” they hummed, shaking his charts in the air above their head thoughtfully. His untrusting glare didn’t waver from them as they slapped the charts on the counter and lazily meandered over to the chair at his bedside, crawling to crouch on top of the seat, their elbows resting on their knees. “Shall I make a show of playin’ coy, or will you save us the time and tell me what’s in those balloons.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way all color drained from his face and his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he performed a series of nervous gulps confirmed their suspicions. “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’! You’re probably a snitch!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm.” Bealz rested their chin in their palm, tilting their head with thought. “Unlikely. I’d have nothing to gain and everything to lose. Snitches get stitches, after all. I should know better than anyone. You can’t believe the amount of stab wounds I’ve sewn up over the years.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie looked surprised, clearly not having expected the colorful candor. He looked down at his hands, taking several shaky breaths before growling with no shortage of snark, “If you were really a foster kid, then you should know; kids with criminal records don’t get funding for college. I messed up. If I don’t get out of here now, my life is ruined. There’s nothing you or Nurse Eye-Candy out there can do to make me willingly fuck myself over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They couldn’t help but grin and quirk an eyebrow at the reference to Crowley, but they quickly feigned disinterest, heaving a sigh and shrugging indifferently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well look, I’d love to say we can argue all day, but my attention span really isn’t that long and bickering with a broody teen doesn’t seem all that fun,” Bealz drawled, examining their impeccably clean fingernails, “Well. That and I won’t need to wait long before one of those balloons burst and kill you. Either way, my day turns to rubbish and I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>when that happens.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid started, staring hard at them before finally barking a laugh, “You’re a bit of an asshole, aren’t you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, see you’ve got my number, then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie gave them an appraising look before large brown eyes started welling up with tears and his lip began to quiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh god. Not with the crying. Crying kid. Fuck it all. What should they do?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Think of Crowley. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They ducked their head to meet his gaze, throwing their most comforting, light-hearted grin his way, “Hey now. Not the end of the world. As far as the world of administration knows, it’s a tumor that I pulled out of you. Those are disposed, they are. No one looks twice- why would they? Just a bloody hunk of flesh. As for the kid? There was never a kid. And the person we operated on ran out on the bill. Very dodgy, that Winston Hill. Those antibiotics you’ll be sent home with? Wellll, looks like the pharmacist miscounted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears were slowly drying up, but confliction took the place of terror. Charlie looked at his hands again, swallowing nervously. He shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why… How can I believe you? Maybe once I’m knocked unconscious you’ll go back on your word. You’ll call the police and social services and hand me right over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz collapsed back, sliding their ass down on the chair with their knees tight to their chest. Their head threw back and they released a long, loud, irritated groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you’re the only kid to fuck up? Nurse Eye-Candy fucked up. I fucked up too. Both of us were lucky enough to have our arses covered in our respective situations. Here we are, thirty years older, Head Nurse of the A&amp;E and Head Trauma Surgeon of the busiest public hospital in all of bloody London. Consider it as me paying it forward.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie threw them a side-long glance with narrowed, untrusting eyes. He shook his head, “Fucked up how? What’d you do? Nicked something?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try robbery and hacking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?! No bloody way!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz stared at him blankly. He raised his eyebrows. They lowered theirs. He gave a shy, hopeful grin. They pouted. He pouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last they threw their arms in the air with a gruff, “Auuurgh! Fine! Fucking fine! You wanna play? Let’s play.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat up a little straighter. Bealz rolled their eyes and set their feet on the floor, knees wide apart. A forearm rested on one thigh and a hand on the other as they prepared to settle in for some uncomfortable over-sharing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The year was 1990,” they gestured dramatically with one hand, narrating in a mock-wistful voice laced with clear undertones of irritation, “A crafty, smart-ass little bastard of a 12-year-old seeks to thrive amidst a beautiful little life in the closet of a two bedroom house chock-full of nine charming drug addicts and two crackhead parents who treat them as the worst plight the human race has ever witnessed. Lovely home life, warms your heart, eh? Anyway, Papa Crackhead decides he’s no longer going to pay for the medicine Mutant Baby needs for their genetic disorder- y’know, the medicine they need to avoid </span>
  <em>
    <span>adrenal crisis </span>
  </em>
  <span>and, subsequently, </span>
  <em>
    <span>death </span>
  </em>
  <span>, so-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What genetic disorder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia- shut it, ‘s story time,” they snapped at him with a glare before clearing their throat and continuing, “anyway. So Little Bastard needs to find their way. Chooses to pull one over on the old couple at the offy. Sniffed the place out for days. Memorized the layout, the weights of different bottles and the thickness of their glass. Timed how long it took them to clean up messes, memorized the paths they’d take from the cleaning cupboard and where the security is located. Became desperate when adrenal crisis set in. Hacked the security system to create a timed static image at the door and register cameras. Snuck in at midnight when the lady’s always at the register and the bloke’s always in the back. Little Bastard’s too bitty of a thing to be seen, kicked the brick used as a doorstop at a display of champagne down the aisle and lock-picked the register. The little fool shoves all it in their pockets and runs out the door just to run straight into the old bloke comin’ in, not where he’s supposed to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d they do?” Charlie asked, leaning forward with eyes wide, fully immersed in the story.. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What someone ought to have done ages earlier. Called social services. In the meantime, they fed me, brought me to the hospital, paid for my medication with the same money I stole. I was in pretty bad shape, a scrappy little fucker. My parents got busted on countless charges. I never had to go back. So. Like I said. Paying it forward,” they finished with a huff, dropping the third-person fantasy aspect of the story as it replayed in their mind, as the feeling of someone giving a damn violently thrummed in their chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earned a small, but honest smile, filled with softness and gratitude. Anthony, indeed. Bealz inhaled deeply through their nose and climbed down out of their chair, swinging their arms out and huffing with finality, “And voila, here I stand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must have been a smart kid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was. Are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie was clearly caught off guard by the question, looking out the window at the rest of the ward and then back at Bealz. “Smarter than this. I swear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you won’t go fucking it up as soon as you get out?” they asked with a bit of a growl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head eagerly, “No ma’am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew. No ‘ma’am’. As in, no, don’t fucking ‘ma’am’ me. ‘S gross an’ only partly accurate. Anyway, this comes with conditions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hope dimmed a bit, and he chewed his lip, “What conditions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re smarter than you let on. Stop fuckin’ round with whatever lot got you up to this. Put yourself to work. Find some decent lads that push you to be better. Do something that’ll make you happy, and pay it forward, yourself, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slow smile breached Charlie’s face, and he nodded, “I think I can do that. Thanks… er… man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Bealz mused, walking backwards to the door, “And… er… don’t? Do drugs? ‘T least not ‘til your 18, and then only in moderation. Use condoms. Don’t catcall. Open doors for ladies. Only </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>can prevent forest fires.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Charlie snorted, his grin broadening, “The fuck is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sod all. Figured I’d roll with the kumbaya guidance counselor vibe. Ride the vibe. Too much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wayyyy too much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz snorted, sticking their head out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy! Crowley!” They paused, withdrawing back into the room to hold a placating hand out towards Charlie, “Oh, sorry, what was it-?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy gave a look of confusion back, turning absolutely stark red in mortification when Bealz leaned back out and shouted, “That is- Nurse Eye-Candy! Some help in here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck, man?” he whimpered, sliding lower in his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Consider it karma,” Bealz teased, giving a grin so devious it could only come from the devil themself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley sniffed, lodging his hip against the side of the lift as he slapped the button for Trauma with a knuckle. Aziraphale had requested he take his lunch, seeing as he only had three hours left on his shift and still had not done so. He’d attempted to shrug it off, insisting he was fine, but then the doctor did that thing where he peered over his reading glasses and gave a small smile and said so sweetly, “I wasn’t asking, dear.” A thrill went up Crowley’s spine just thinking about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz would be done just as soon, but it was worth checking if they wanted to tag along, and the nurse was eager to check up on Charlie and assist in getting him out of the hospital unchecked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lift doors opened and Crowley took his exit cheerfully, his confident swagger slowing to a nervous shuffle as he took in the environment around him. Near the nurse’s station stood a gaggle of policemen, in deep discussion with a social worker. A flare of anger surged from deep in Crowley’s chest, and he stormed to the pasty individual behind the desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy! Hastur! What the bugger is all this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haster curled his lip at him and sneered before pointedly looking back down at his computer, “Take it up with Bealz. They’re the one that told me to call.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flame was doused with water, extinguishing it into a pathetic, smoking smolder that choked him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlie didn’t make it,” he practically whispered to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dark eyes fixed him with a look of irritation, clearly not wishing to play guessing games. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley swallowed thickly before snarling, leaning over the counter and clawing his fingers, “The kid, you arse! What happened? Did a balloon explode?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hastur spat back, clearly only further riled by Crowley’s own hostility, “Undiagnosed clotting disorder. Cardiac arrest. Died on the table. Bealz left for the day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley felt his heart sink into the dark depths of his stomach. Fuck. Of all the freak incidents to occur, and Bealz had </span>
  <em>
    <span>bonded </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him. Connected. This was his fault. He had pushed them. No doubt they would be a disaster. Immediately his mind jumped to their stress levels. Emotional distress was an especially powerful trigger for their epilepsy, and if this didn’t fill the bill, he wasn’t sure what did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A prompt barrage of calls was the first new task on his agenda. No answer. Of course not. Why would they make it easy for him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>
      <em>Text sent to Garbage Opossum August 13 5:13 PM</em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Bea I heard what happened plz answer or call me back </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I need 2 kno ur ok</b>
</p><p>
  <b>U shouldn’t b alone right now </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley huffed down at his phone in frustration, making his way to hunt Aziraphale down. He had to go to Bealz’ flat and see if they were there. He had to find them. If they didn’t want to talk, that was fine, but he knew they wouldn’t want to be alone, even if they thought they did. Panic was planted in his chest in the meantime, roots spreading outward and squeezing his lungs to the point breathing evenly was a challenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found Aziraphale patiently stitching up the palm of an older man who was bickering loudly with his antagonizing wife. Crowley anxiously hovered near the nurse’s station until he finished, swooping to his side as the broader man walked with purpose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angel, do you have a moment?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do believe you’re meant to be at-,” Aziraphale started with a playful tone, but his face went soft and concerned the moment he looked at Crowley, “Yes, of course, dear. Shall we step in just there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He placed a comforting hand between Crowley’s shoulders, guiding him into an unoccupied exam room and shutting the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, what’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need- I need to- I can’t- I wouldn’t ever ask if-,” he started, struggling to get his breathing right so he could bloody well speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Aziraphale reached forward to grasp his wrists, pressing his thumbs into the small grooves below Crowley’s own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, dear boy. Can you inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth for me? Deep breaths, please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The redhead jerked his head in a small nod, closing his eyes and doing as he asked. Over a couple minutes, he felt the roots recede, and his lungs opened up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to leave early,” he finally said, “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Aziraphale confirmed with a gentle, attentive gaze, hands moving to grasp the calming pressure point of Crowley’s hand instead. “Are you alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s not me- it’s-,” he floundered, hesitant to share. If Aziraphale was romantically deterred by his closeness with Bealz, he wouldn’t be the first person Crowley fancied to be chased off by it. “It’s not me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes didn’t drift from golden ones, and the blonde tilted his head. “Of course you can leave early. I trust it’s important. Is there anything I can do to help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An image came to mind of Bealz, alone in a crowd of strangers and collapsing into a seizure. Of them being rushed to hospital. Or worse- them being alone and having one. Crowley aggressively shook his head ‘no’. “God, I hope not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gave him a curious look, and Crowley felt compelled to rush out, “but thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor slowly looked over him, pursing his lips before nodding, “Well, if you think of anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call, yes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley took a deep breath, nodding again with a grateful gleam in his watery eyes, “Sure thing. Thanks, angel.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next stop was, much to his own dread, Gabriel Winger’s office. The place was beginning to become a place devoted to bad and mildly scarring experiences. He awarded the courtesy of a knock on the door, but didn’t wait for an answer before swinging it open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy. You heard from Bea?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winger looked annoyed at the abrupt intrusion, sitting at his desk and using his computer, “Why would I have? If you’d been paying attention you’d know I haven’t needed a surgical consult in the last few hours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley ground his teeth. Now wasn’t the time for him to break out into full snark-mode. “They’re not here. A patient of theirs- a kid- died on the table. I need to figure out where they are, they shouldn’t be alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel scoffed, not offering the consideration of eye contact as he turned back to face his monitor. “Jesus. Clingy, much? They’re a big-... person. Whatever. A grown up. I doubt they need a babysitter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not-,” Crowley scoffed before turning red with fury and slapping his hands down on the other side of the desk, “They’re epileptic, you massive fucking prick! Their seizures are almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>stress induced!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winger’s face went blank, and his eyes darted around before him in thought before he cleared his throat and looked at Crowley. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There. Fuck. Was that so bloody difficult?” Crowley snarked, not sparing a second glance as he spun on his heel and took his leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of his day was a whirlwind of going to Bealz’ flat, pacing around for two hours, and then making calls to all their friends as he hopped across London to all their favorite spots. It wasn’t until nearly 10 PM that he finally felt his phone buzz. His eyes scanned over the message, and all at once, every bit of tension flooded from his body. He collapsed onto the nearest barstool, feeling himself go boneless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>
      <em>Text From Garbage Opossum August 13 9:56 PM</em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Shit I’m sorry Tony, went to that angry place in my head where nothing else exists. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Not alone, got someone here. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Good. Cross as bloody hell at u </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Make it up to you with brunch tomorrow xoxoxox</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Mmmmhmmm. U damned better. And then some.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>…</b>
</p><p>
  <b>x</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oy, mate! Whiskey smash,” he flagged the bartender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satan knew he needed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down at his phone again to text Aziraphale, the fiftieth impulse he’d had to do so since getting the number, but yet again he acknowledged he’d never been messaged. He wasn’t going to be the one to break their tidy scheduled interactions. He wouldn’t intrude, no matter how badly he longed for the angel’s soothing words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>8:52 PM</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz ignored the cacophony of honking they were rewarded with for their jackass motorbike stunt of screeching across the road into the car park without any signal or care for other motorists. They huffed as they parked and dismounted their Ducati, mussing their hair upon removal of their helmet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t know the time. They didn’t want to look. No attention could be spared to anything other than guilt and fury spiraling in their chest like a mighty storm. The drive outside the city hadn’t helped. The wandering into nature hadn’t helped. The throat-ripping screaming into the wilderness about the unfairness of it all hadn’t helped. Because in the end, none of it would rewrite history. None of it would bring that kid back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their fist practically punched the button for their floor in the lift, and they paced back and forth inside it. They knew damn well they ought to go to Anthony’s. They didn’t want to. He’d want to talk about it, to make it better. Bealz wasn’t ready to face these emotions out loud. Not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An angry wind lashed about their head, destroying any thought that got in its path and whipping around every imaginable negativity with a vengeance. As a personal philosophy, Beatrix saw beauty in the darkest places. In the ugliest parts of nature. But sometimes, the glow of light from nearby sources went out, and they couldn’t see that beauty any more. They couldn’t see anything at all. Instead, they’d be blind and fumbling, alone in the dark. The terror crept in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small hand went to retrieve their keys from their jacket pocket. Their feet stopped before their door, and they looked up to it only to find a person standing there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Hey,” Winger said, stupidly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Icy blue eyes fixed on his face for a good amount of time before Bealz trudged forward anyway, bustling him out of their path to unlock the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not in the mood, Winger. Not tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Oh, no. I’m not here for that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz turned the key, but didn’t push the door open, instead guarding it warily as they turned to take Winger in. “Then what are you here for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- look, can I come in?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their cold gaze examined his face closely. He didn’t shy away from it. At last, Beatrix shrugged their thin shoulders, opening the door and leaving it ajar as they strode in, put their helmet on a side table, and tossed their jacket on the floor. Gabe followed after, looking slightly irritated as he picked up their jacket and hung it in the coat closet. It was a futile effort given the disarray of their flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- uh,” he started, “I heard what happened today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz eyes turned sharp, and they scowled. “What? Here to rub salt in the wound?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gabriel scoffed, affronted, “No! I- I just know it sucks, losing a patient. Sometimes even more when it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>your fault.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you don’t. You’ve never cared before! False pity is a shite look on you, mate,” they growled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The storm was growing larger, it’s perimeter leaking farther and farther outside of themself, and Gabriel was on the path of it. He opened his mouth to argue, and Bealz found themself longing for it. Instead he shut his mouth, taking a deep breath and shaking his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t pity you. I sympathize with you. You’re a good surgeon. Stuff like this can make it hard to believe that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wonderful. Because I absolutely care about the opinion of the most ambivalent physician in all of bloody London!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you trying to fight with me?” he asked, brows furrowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain and panic crossed their face. In a flash, they were gone, replaced with excited aggression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you like that? Isn’t that why you’re here? To get off on the aftershocks of my fury?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe’s face began to redden, but he frowned, shaking his head again, “No. I’m here because you shouldn’t be alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz’ eyes narrowed in suspicious confusion. They widened upon finding realization, and their scowl redoubled in efforts. With a spin on their heel, they stormed to the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck off, Winger! You don’t give a shit what happens to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the proximity of his voice, they could tell he was following. The anxiety of vulnerability crept up in their stomach. They tried to push it back down. It would be fine. He would argue back and leave and they could mourn in peace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true,” he defended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They scoffed, “It is. I have no idea what this fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>show </span>
  </em>
  <span>is about! What’re you trying at, we’re just- what? Fuck buddies?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I should be content with you having a seizure and unable to get help?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They started at that, diving into a shout and hoping he’d match it, “Don’t fucking do that!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t do what?” he asked back, and he looked so calm. He sounded the same. There wasn’t even a flash of annoyance on his face. If anything there was- was </span>
  <em>
    <span>concern. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It twisted Bealz up. They should be making him angry, upset, hurt, flustered. Why weren’t they having any effect? Why wasn’t he fighting back?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit me!” they yelled, “That’s the whole fuckin' point of you! You’re the only bloody person that doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>pity </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit </span>
  </em>
  <span>me and now you’re doin' </span>
  <em>
    <span>both!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. I wouldn’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You WOULD and you ARE!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face twisted into anxious concern, “Bealz, you need to calm down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh! What kind of chauvinistic prick are you! Tellin' me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>calm down. </span>
  </em>
  <span>FUCK you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their frustration grew to a pique, and they paced angrily. Blue eyes desperately searched for something to throw, landing on a rare amber-encased cicada. They snatched it up, holding it over their head and turning back to find Gabe, mildly entertained with raised eyebrows. They looked back up at the valuable piece of their collection, releasing a frustrated mangle of a shout before slapping it back down on the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They paused at a standstill, covering their face for several moments before moving their hands to rest on their hips and fixing a glare on Gabe with renewed vigor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck are you worrying about me for? Worry about yourself. I’ve got plenty of suggestions if you’ve fallen short on the list. How about you go home and worry about the fact that you’ve gone and made health and fitness your identity because you’re too much of a bloody coward to figure out a real personality, yeah? That all your friendships and connections are built on that pathetic hoax! That everything you fucking are is a counterfeit manifestation to make daddy happy and now you’re stuck in a career you didn’t want and a life that makes you miserable! How about you worry about that! Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too far. They knew they were going too far. They were hitting him where it hurt the absolute most. Still, he didn’t react, standing still and remaining silent, expressionless. Bealz huffed, breathing heavy. They paced in a circle, biting their lower lip and staring at the ceiling to blink back tears. At last, they stopped, flapping their arms helplessly to the side before ceding to speak with a whimper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why aren’t you fightin' back?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel’s brows knitted together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I don’t want to fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz barely suppressed the carnal desire to burst into tears out of frustration and lunged forward instead, shoving Gabriel onto the sofa and crawling to straddle him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” they growled, twisting their hands in his shirt and yanking him forward, “Then I’ll give you what you want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pressed into aggressive kiss, biting angrily at his stupid pretty mouth and licking their way into it. He didn’t kiss back, instead sitting absolutely still. A deep, frustrated growl sounded from their chest and they pulled back, laying hot, open mouthed kisses and bites to his throat instead. He didn’t gasp or moan the way he usually did. He didn’t wind his hands in their hair or scratch at their shoulders. Bealz huffed, not letting up. Their small hands slid to his shirt to work at the buttons there, but his much larger and stronger pair snatched them and held them still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beatrix, stop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They started back, shock clear on their features. “Why?” they growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I want,” he said shortly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They let out an amazed scoff, looking upward to blink the wetness back from their eyes a second time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what do you want?” they whined in defeat, their voice raspy from all the shouting they’d done today. What could he possibly desire? Their bickering and fighting and fucking were all Bealz had given before. What could he expect outside of what he knew they’d offer? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those pretty purple pools delved deeply into their blue, and he shrugged, sighing with the utmost honesty, “I just want you to be okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz face twisted and an aggressive pang went off in their chest. They worked their jaw, desperately trying and failing to hold back the tears that fell at long last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s rubbish,” they choked out, shaking their head and shoving his chest where they’d just been holding it still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s rubbish!” they shouted again, delivering another shove. They went to try a third time and he held their hands captive. Bealz growled as tears streamed down their face, wrestling against his attempt to still them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s rubbish! That’s rubbish! That’s rubbish! It’s rubbish… it’s rubbish… it’s all bloody rubbish! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!” their angry yelling descended into loud sobs, and they fell slack atop him, wailing the last sentiment over and over again. They cried, at last releasing the anger and pain and sadness and every horrible feeling that had heated to a boiling point inside them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then their face was buried in his shoulder and they were in the strongest, safest embrace of their life, one hand smoothing over their petite back and the other gently rustling through their feathery block locks. They couldn’t be sure how long they stayed that way, sobbing and sniffling while being gently rocked. Gabriel pressed his cheek against their head, occasionally turning to lay soft kisses there. He remained silent, not seeming to mind as they ruined his shirt with tears and snot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what felt like ages, Bealz was all cried out. They felt more exhausted than ever, and at last they pulled away to rub at their face with tiny fists, Gabriel’s hands sliding to their waist to accommodate the action. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to take my meds,” they mumbled, voice weak and hoarse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Gabriel nodded, “Let’s get you some food to take them with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pulled a face, imagining flavorless tofu and dressingless lettuce, and he laughed, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Name the place. It’s on me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rays of sunshine coming in the window roused Bealz from their slumber, and they spared a moment to bother with surprise that they’d apparently slept for the whole night. They couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Or a time they’d even slept more than three hours. They weren’t sure it ever had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strong arms had been replaced with long, slender ones, and Bealz found themself with a face full of dark red hair. Crowley’s face was buried in their chest, and he had them in a death grip. He must have come earlier in the morning. Bealz had no idea when Gabriel left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They buried their face indulgently in the soft locks before them, deeply inhaling the comforting, heart-achingly familiar scent of cedarwood and herbs before pulling away to reach for the side table. Crowley whined, clinging to them harder, and they rolled their eyes with a silent laugh, consoling him with a stroke to the back of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just grabbin’ my phone you </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>they chided, snatching the device before readjusting to their prior position. They hitched a leg over Crowley’s waist and began to check their various social medias and oddities circuits. It was 8 AM. They had slept seven and a half hours. They couldn’t help but marvel at it a little bit. Loathe as they were to admit it, they’d no sooner laid down in bed next to Winger than they’d passed out cold. Apparently his presence similarly </span>
  <em>
    <span>kept </span>
  </em>
  <span>them asleep. They could also surmise by a glance around the room that he hadn’t been a fan of the little collection of taxidermy opossums, the only taxidermy pieces in their bedroom, each wearing little ties or sweaters or hats or flower crowns. They were currently covered with a blanket. Bea grinned at the thought, wishing they’d been awake to bicker with him over it or maybe shove the creatures in his face and do little voices for them (they had them all prepared, as Crowley and them had something of a game of moving them around the flat and staging ridiculous scenes).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slender figure in their arms didn’t stir for another two hours. Bealz had readjusted their position a bit, holding their phone over Crowley’s face, his head resting on their shoulder now. They noted as he inhaled deeply and mumbled, releasing their phone to slap on his cheek. They snickered as he started awake and glared at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ow?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, did sweepyhead get a boo boo?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes, cuddling in closer and nuzzling under their jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” he said after a bit of comfortable silence, “Riddle me this: why did I run into Winger in the hallway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” they said, the memories of last night flooding back into their mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck,” they groaned, raising their hands to scrub their face. How were they to explain this to their partner? How would he react? Would he even believe them? “Uh. Give me ‘til we get to brunch to sort it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” he hummed, clearly amused, and rolled to sit at the end of the bed, still fully clothed in tight dark jeans and a long-sleeved grey V-neck with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. He stretched his long limbs, arms reaching out over head before he stretched his neck side to side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bea followed suit, taking a shower before throwing on form-fitting black trousers, a sheer black shirt, a dark purple pinstripe double breasted waistcoat, and curb stomping boots. They selected their earrings for the day, dangling butterfly wings preserved in resin. The moment they exited their bedroom, they froze, looking around at the tidy, spotless flat and turning to Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You cleaned at 7 AM or sommat? You possessed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gave them a cheeky, suspicious grin, “Wasn’t me. Must have been Winger. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The plot thickens.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Beatrix attempted not to look as shocked as they felt, but fell short, looking over their clean living space again before holding the door open for Crowley and linking arms with him in the hallway. For once, it was a nice summer day, around twenty two degrees and sunny, so they opted to walk to their destination. They entered the small cafe, housed in a repurposed greenhouse, and took their usual seats by the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz ordered French toast without the fruit, preferably slathered in syrup and whipped cream with double-order sides of every kind of meat. Crowley, disgusted but assimilated to their preferences, saved any faces, ordering the eggs benedict. Bloody mary’s were requested for the both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Crowley started, slouching down in his chair with his knees impossibly far apart, “You gonna talk or should I slowly pull out every agonizing little detail?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz groaned, adjusting to sit on a foot before rubbing their eyes and huffing, “I didn’t- you know- if I wanted to have someone there, I would have called you or gone to yours, you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” he confirmed, arching an eyebrow over his round metal Ray-Ban shades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slumped forward against the table, taking eager sips at their drink as soon as it was set down. After stalling a bit by throwing the tomato juice-coated celery at Crowley and watching him throw a fit over it, they groaned again, and gave in to telling him what had happened the night before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wants me to ‘be okay’, he says. Can you even believe that? Ugh. I blubbered like a bloody baby. Snotted all over his soddin’ shirt. Nastiest I’ve ever been. Still can’t figure out his angle.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well what’d you do after?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked up at him with a shameful expression, causing him to quirk both eyebrows now and grin devilishly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We… ordered junk food from three different places. He even actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>ate </span>
  </em>
  <span>some of it. Then we watched the goriest, most cathartic horror movies I could think of. The bastard didn’t complain </span>
  <em>
    <span>once. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And then we moved to bed and I just… fell asleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley looked astonished at that. For a long moment, the two stared off. Finally, he smirked, leaning forward as if for the most scandalous of gossip and gasping, “Beatrix Nadia Bealz. Are you telling me that you had Gabriel Winger spend the night and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t even fuck him?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uuuuuaghhh don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>remind </span>
  </em>
  <span>me!” they wailed dramatically, covering their face and sprawling forward over the table as their best friend giggled gleefully at their expense. “But wassat even about?! Wha’s he care if I’m okay?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, has it occurred to you,” Crowley began thoughtfully before chomping off a bit of his own celery stalk and pointing it at them, “that he might </span>
  <em>
    <span>fancy </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz stared at him like he had three heads. They started turning pink- an absolute rarity- and grew flustered. It all came back to them, the increasing offers of snacks. The progression of targeted beratement to reciprocated banter. The growing occurrence of lingering touches and cuddles after sex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no. I mean? He hates me?” they more asked than declared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does he now? If that’s how one expresses hatred, I’ve been doing it all wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another long pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet you let him cuddle you through the height of vulnerability and snuggled him to sleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut it,” they growled, the color darkening. They fisted their hands in their hair, resting their elbows on the table. “Satan help me. I can’t fancy him! He’s a proper wanker!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah well. You always have had a weakness for those. Although I have to say, his sort is much better than the other arseholes you’ve wasted yourself on before. He actually believes he owes you the time of day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stared at him in disbelief, “Wh- you </span>
  <em>
    <span>givin’ your blessing? </span>
  </em>
  <span>You can’t stand him!” </span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, “I’m just saying. If everything you’re saying about last night is true, I think it’s all under control. Seems like you’ve got ‘im wrapped around your little finger. I’m certainly not going to complain about a bastard with the audacity to </span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>about you. You deserve that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s what I have you for,” they hummed, swinging their free foot to nudge his shin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ll always have me for that. But you deserve someone swoonin’ over you. Someone to boss around in and out of bed and do whatever you’d like with. Just give it some thought, what’s the harm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They grinned, looking up at him fondly before leaning back, “I don’t even know how to process all this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wicked expression crossed Crowley’s face, and he rested his chin on his fist, “Perhaps a shopping spree with your favorite person on earth might ease your troubles?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beatrix barked a laugh, lifting their bloody mary toward him, “Alright, you spoiled brat. To retail therapy and to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat up straight, entirely pleased, and lifted his glass to clink against theirs, “Here here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Disclaimer: Bealz in this chapter treats Gabriel really awfully because of their own distress, please don't think I condone that behavior IRL at ALL! It's okay to feel your feelings. It's not okay to take it out on other people. Luckily Gabriel was able to see it for what it was and not let it get to him. </p><p>I was going to wait until Sunday to post this but I COULD NOT. I got too excited to share it. This is probably obvious but Bealz' and Crowley's relationship is everything to me.</p><p>I really love Bealz so much... and while Gabriel is an asshole, he's an asshole that cares. Ineffable Bureaucracy chapters/segments will be sprinkled in a little more often from here on out!</p><p>You can expect the next chapter to be out July 5th, if I can wait that long ;P Back to the boys~</p><p>As always, your comments FUEL me. I love hearing what parts were your favorite!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Don't be intimidated by the length, this chapter is actually the same length as some others. It just appears longer because over half of it is texts!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“If they only play originals I’m going to get up on stage and make every last one of them sorry they showed up at all,” the red-haired, fiery woman huffed.</p><p>“Awh, here’s hopin’ they play originals then. You starting a stage-riot sounds like a much better show,” Crowley tossed the jab at Carmine with a smirk. </p><p>“No one’s forcing you to go, Crowley,” Faust reminded. </p><p>Indeed, the nurse had made quite a big deal out of going to see the local band, determined to insist that what they produced was not music, but racket. Three out of four of his friends couldn’t disagree but urged him to come out with them anyway. The remaining friend and something of a leader of the group, on the other hand, didn’t much care for the cynicism. He’d met Faust through Bealz some decades ago, and over the years, the tall, menacing man had collected his own little group of rabble-rousing misfits from locations ranging from community outreach to underground speakeasies. It didn’t occur to Crowley that he and Bealz had been befriended in the same vein, becoming part of a gang that formed a mismatched whole. </p><p>“You’re just butthurt I don’t like them ‘cause you’re sleepin’ with the drummer,” Crowley bit back with a cheeky grin. </p><p>“Ooohh, Crowley’s got your number, boss,” Weiss joined in the teasing. </p><p>Then Crowley saw a flash of white and blue down the next block and his heart stuttered alongside his feet. He stopped so suddenly that Sable and Carmine ran straight into him and nearly had him sprawled out on the pavement. Faust caught him by the back of his jacket, pulling him upright. Crowley couldn’t even be bothered to thank him or put on a show of humility, too fixated on the scene across the intersection. </p><p>Some man was touching his angel. He was tall and dark and handsome (enough, Crowley supposed) and he was sliding his hands all over Aziraphale’s chest and shoulders. A knife twisted in Crowley’s heart and tears began to swim in his eyes. Then, Aziraphale was taking the man’s hands, trying to discourage him, irritation on his face. The man pouted, and the doctor only looked exasperated further. Then he was stepping away from Aziraphale, answering his phone. Rude. What a wanker. Didn’t he know how lucky he was? The blonde took the chance to pull out his pocket watch, peering at the time, and released a sigh so large Crowley could note it from where he was standing. Clearly, he was disappointed at the time, or rather, the slow passing of it.</p><p>The voices of his friends were distant static now, and he was pacing back and forth on the walk, staring down the scene and hanging off the edge of plunging in to rescue Aziraphale from the prat so clearly undeserving of his affections. A hand on his shoulder briefly brought him back.</p><p>“Who’s that then?” asked Faust.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” he breathed.</p><p>“Who?” Weiss asked.</p><p>“His <em> angel,” </em>teased Sable. </p><p>“Ohhh! The blonde one? You weren’t lying, he really is a sexy time-traveler. Who’s that bloke with him?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Crowley growled out before resuming his prowling. </p><p>“Oh, oh I see what’s happening here,” Weiss identified, sliding into an Australian accent, “Here we see the wild Crowley in its natural London habitat. The Crowley has found himself threatened, spotting competition to win over his potential mate.” </p><p>The patrolling redhead didn’t seem to notice his remarks. </p><p>Carmine joined in, “It’s said in some circles that the wild Crowley only has five percent of the impulse control of other humans, and even fewer functioning brain cells. When in distress, that percentage withers into nothingness. Here we get the rare treat of watching it occur before our very eyes. Four percent. Three percent. Two percent-”</p><p>Then the man was off the phone and trying to crowd Aziraphale against the wall again. The blonde’s patience seemed to be hanging on by a thread, and he looked up at the sky, as if praying for a miracle. </p><p>Crowley lunged forth, throwing a hand over his shoulder, “Cheers, lads.” </p><p>“Bye Crowley!” he heard amongst a chorus of laughs. </p><p>A vicious beast of jealousy was rearing its head and roaring in Crowley’s chest at the sight of someone else touching <em> his </em> angel. How fucking dare he? That should be <em> him. </em>And somehow, with all his doubts, he knew for a fact Aziraphale wouldn’t be making that heavily put-upon face if it were Crowley washing his hands over his chest and nuzzling in for kisses. </p><p>He channeled all that rage and indignation into a character and smoothly slid into performance.</p><p>“Aziraphale!” he shouted gruffly, sounding as furious as he possibly could.</p><p>The blonde turned to him, looking entirely surprised and- was that <em> guilt?  </em></p><p>Never mind, Crowley wasn’t deterred. </p><p>“Is this what ‘taking a break’ means? Fucking around with whatever sorry sod you find? You said you wanted ‘time to work on yourself’! How stupid am I, not realizing that translates to breaking your bloody vows!” </p><p>They were married now? Whatever. Crowley was committed to the bit. Realization crossed Aziraphale’s face, and he was quick to step into the scene. </p><p>“Darling, no! It’s not what it looks like!”</p><p><em> Darling, </em>he had said. Darling. Crowley tried to ignore the speedy racing of his heart, figuring the red flushing to his face would do well to contribute to his facade of fury.</p><p>“It’s not what it looks like? How fucking daft do you think I am? You’re snogging with this- this- this <em> homewrecker </em>on the street for everyone to see!” </p><p>He turned to look at the man, now sickeningly pale and in obvious shock. </p><p>“And you! What, you have a ticket to the show? Enjoyin’ yourself, yeah? Proud of yourself, are you?” </p><p>“N-no!” he rushed out, “I didn’t! You didn’t-” </p><p>He stammered, turning to Aziraphale briefly before deciding perhaps it was best not to get further wrapped into this. </p><p>“I- erm- I’m so sorry!” he rushed out, turning and rushing down the street. </p><p>“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out!” Crowley carried on with the bit, “I mean, bloody hell, Aziraphale, this is our place! We come here all the time! You absolute! You! You- you- you- annnnnd he’s gone.” </p><p>He slid seamlessly back into his laid-back disposition, and Aziraphale burst into laughter, raising his hands to give Crowley a polite ovation. The redhead laughed in turn, kicking at the concrete, “Oh shucks. It was nothing.” </p><p>He gave a couple modest bows before standing upright. </p><p>“Hope that was alright, you looked like you were about to start looking for a bridge to jump off of.” </p><p>“Quite.” Aziraphale sported a devilish grin. “Aren’t you just a knight in shining armor.” </p><p>“Naww,” Crowley shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck, “Just achingly familiar with what a bad date looks like.”</p><p>“Is that right? I’m sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale hummed, turning his head to eye the building beside them. Crowley followed suit, finding them standing in front of The Ritz restaurant. The blonde sighed, “Oh I was looking forward to dinner, I’ve had those reservations for over a week.”</p><p>Something lit up in his eyes and he turned to Crowley, “Do you have plans, dear boy? Are you on your way somewhere?” </p><p>Crowley shook his head and outright lied, “No I was just- out. Y’know.” </p><p>He turned to look over his shoulder for confirmation, finding his friends had gone on without him. </p><p>“Well perhaps you could be persuaded to join me? I must thank you for your valiant rescue.” </p><p>The redhead grinned, ignoring the comforting warmth that rose to his face, “Sure. Never been here before.”</p><p>Aziraphale looked entirely too pleased and held the door open for Crowley, “Oh, but darling, I thought this was our place?” </p><p>Crowley felt himself turn at least three shades darker as they were led to their table.</p><p>It was nice, right near the piano, and had a lovely view of the restaurant. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been in a dining establishment this high-end, and suddenly became very anxious. Bealz took him to restaurants, sure. Sometimes fancy places, but they were a tiny glutton determined to eat somewhere with sizable portions. He tried not to melt on the spot as Aziraphale pushed in his chair for him. </p><p>The waiter came by to get their drink orders, and Crowley, flustered at how quick the service was, dumbly grumbled for a water. </p><p>“Would you like to share a bottle of wine, dear?” Aziraphale asked so sweetly, and Crowley was suddenly chugging down a cocktail of emotions composed of anxiety and excitement in response to the fact that this felt immensely like a date. The waiter might even think they were together, and it sent his heart fluttering wildly about his chest. </p><p>“Er, yeah, sounds good, angel,” he managed back. </p><p>“Any preferences?”</p><p>“Nah, you pick.” </p><p>He looked around as Aziraphale decided, marveling at the high ceiling and mirrored walls. The other patrons were dressed so nicely, and anxiety settled in to gnaw at his stomach. He redoubled his efforts, looking down at himself and his patched, spike-studded denim jacket, red v-neck, and sinfully tight black trousers. Aziraphale looked even more handsome and proper than usual, wearing what looked like a velveteen waistcoat and a deep blue dinner jacket that was the darkest color Crowley had ever seen on him. Meanwhile, he looked like a brat out on a date with his sugar-daddy, and the thought made him choke on his water. </p><p>“Alright, dear?” </p><p>“Yeah, I, uh. Do you come here often?” he covered for himself, pulling his napkin off the table and folding it over his lap.</p><p>“I wouldn’t say ‘often’,” Aziraphale said with a warm smile. Oh, that smile made things better. A bit of panic melted away, and Crowley relaxed back into his chair, spreading his knees and slouching down. The blonde looked pleased. “But I’ve been a couple times since arriving in London, the chef changes the menu often and I find myself quite swept away by the elegance of the flavor profiles upon each visit.” </p><p>The wine came, and much to Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale insisted he should do the tasting. It was good, a zinfandel with plum undertones and a smokey finish, and Crowley nodded, indicating it was acceptable. Aziraphale looked on with such pleased fondness, and the redhead felt a little thrill in his stomach, as if the blonde had praised him out loud. </p><p>He insisted the doctor order for him, not bothering to mention he was deeply turned on by the concept, and slowly unwound, falling into the comfortable familiarity of conversation. It seemed like whatever random topics they fell to, from the size of dolphins’ brains to the plot holes in mythology, Aziraphale was entirely knowledgeable. A seed of an idea was planted in the redhead’s mind and took root. </p><p>“Y’know, I’m not sure if it's your scene, but I have a group that does trivia every week. I’m the pop culture and cinema expert, but we always fall short when it comes to literature and history.” </p><p>He decided not to mention that the group in question was composed of insensitive, egotistical prats he didn’t quite care for and never bothered to see outside of the game. He’d keep Aziraphale distracted from their nonsense. Not like he could stand for the blonde’s attention to stray far from himself, anyhow. </p><p>Aziraphale jumped at the offer like it was a declaration of love. “Oh, my dear, that sounds wonderful! When might that be?” </p><p>“Wednesdays,” Crowley said, sitting up in his seat. The idea of seeing his angel not once, but <em> twice </em>a week out of work made his heart beat faster. “At a pub in Greenwich. A bit chaotic, especially after a day at work, but it can be fun. We haven’t won once in five years, but I have a feelin’ with you on our team, our luck may change.”</p><p>Aziraphale took a long look at him, and the excitement in Crowley’s stomach turned a bit sour. What was that face? What had he done wrong?</p><p>“Crowley, don’t you work twelve-hour shifts on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday? I’ve seen those shifts turn into sixteen hours.”</p><p>Oh.</p><p>“Er, yeah. And an eight hour on Wednesdays,” he mumbled, “I just- y’know. Like to make sure things are in order. Sometimes I pick up Saturday shifts, too. Not being there three days in a row? Makes some of the nurses think it’s okay to get lazy.” </p><p>Aziraphale frowned, and Crowley fought the urge to grab his hand over the table and plead with him not to pull that face, not to be disappointed in him. He’d fix it. He would. </p><p>“Crowley, that’s a fifty to sixty hour work week.” </p><p>“Yeah, but, I mean- it’s alright, I like to keep busy. Then on my free days I have time for chores and Sundays are always with Bea.”</p><p>“And when do you have time to take care of yourself?” </p><p>“Oh, I try not to spend too much time alone with my thoughts.”</p><p>Wrong answer, apparently. The doctor looked displeased, but chewed his cheek in thought, seeming to think up an idea.</p><p>“How about you take Wednesdays off from now on.” </p><p>Crowley hesitated, averting his gaze and lining up the silverware on the table. “Mmm…” </p><p>“Alright. Every other Wednesday, then. I’ll come to trivia with you, and we could use the extra time to get dinner beforehand.” </p><p>“Really? Alright then! Wicked!” Crowley found himself excitedly blurting. The work-monster in him wailed and screamed and berated him, but it was easy enough to hush up as the actual part of himself that wanted good things preened and spun in happy circles. Dinner. With Aziraphale. <em> Every other week </em>. In addition to hanging out with him at night! Oh this was becoming Crowley’s favorite day. </p><p>“Oh wonderful,” Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley felt a little less like a piece of shit than he usually did. He couldn’t be all that bad if he made an angel smile like that. </p><p>At last their food was delivered, and if Crowley thought the noises the blonde had made in his presence before were intoxicating, these stole his breath away. The food was deserving of the praise; even with as much as he enjoyed cooking, he couldn’t quite aspire to make such a divine, decadent, balanced meal. He thought about cooking something for Aziraphale that would make him sound those glorious noises, and tried not to adjust his seating too obviously when finding a more comfortable position to accommodate the tenting in his trousers. He found himself fixated on those lips as they closed around the fork, wishing they were on him instead. Would Aziraphale make the same noises? Would he be just as eager and pleased to taste Crowley? </p><p>He turned red and cleared his throat, “So, what’ve you been reading, then?”</p><p>“Oh!” Aziraphale looked absolutely thrilled at the turn in conversation. He did love his books, and Crowley would listen to him discuss them for hours if it meant watching that passion burn in his eyes. “I’ve been re-reading Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice.”</p><p>Crowley nearly bolted upright, “That’s my favorite!” </p><p>He couldn’t help but laugh at the shock that crossed Aziraphale’s face. </p><p>“Didn’t expect that, did you?”</p><p>“I confess I didn’t,” the blonde let out a quiet, polite chuckle, fixing Crowley with a warm smile, “You gave me the impression you hadn’t read much.” </p><p>“Oh,” Crowley shrank a little, but then Aziraphale reached over and squeezed his hand, sending his heart into happy little backflips, and he perked back up, smiling and looking sheepishly into those pretty blue eyes, “You’re right, I haven’t, but I watched the 1995 BBC miniseries and got hooked. Saw every other film adaptation. Listened to the audio book and read along.”</p><p>Aziraphale leaned forward over his kentish lamb, intrigued by the discussion, “What about it won your favor so fervently?” </p><p>Crowley gave a cheeky grin, “That Eliza Bennett. Queen of cheek she is. Practically invented throwing shade.” </p><p>Aziraphale barked out a laugh, placing his hand on his chest. Oh, Crowley was getting quickly addicted to making him laugh like that. It was so pure and honest. If he could just make him that happy every day, he was quite certain he’d never have reason to feel badly ever again. </p><p>“That checks out,” the doctor confirmed with a grin before recalling, “Historical dramas.”</p><p>“Historical dramas,” Crowley confirmed, shooting back a happy smirk. </p><p>Dessert was by far the hardest course to get through with the moaning, and Crowley barely finished stuffing his rhubarb and custard into his mouth, hardly tasting it, before he had to excuse himself to the bathroom. He leaned his forehead against the side of a stall and begged his half-hard erection to go away, just until he was alone at home. After some deep breathing and sad thoughts, it obeyed, and he returned to the table, surprised to find Aziraphale had paid the entirety of the bill. </p><p>“You didn’t have to do that,” he argued sheepishly, “I didn’t run to the bathroom to avoid the check, I promise. Not that much of a prick.”</p><p>“I’d argue you’re not one in any capacity, on the contrary,” Aziraphale countered, not appearing the least bit bothered, “As I said before, dinner was to show my appreciation. I hardly think that would come across if I forced the bill on you. Shall we take our leave?”</p><p>Crowley tried not to look too flustered, wondering what impressions he’d possibly left on this very date-like experience. On the way out, he spotted a browning plant in the window, and stopped to address the hostess.</p><p>“Excuse me, that plant shouldn’t be in direct sunlight,” he said, trying not to convey the level of his offense.</p><p>She gave a helpless little shrug, “I’m sorry sir, management decides where that goes.”</p><p>They neared the door, but Crowley grasped the crook of Aziraphale’s elbow before they did. </p><p>“Would you distract the hostess for me?”</p><p>The blonde gave him a blank look that slid into puzzlement, “Whatever for?”</p><p>“Oh, just, I dunno, ask her about one of the dishes or something. Please?” he gave his best pleading puppy-dog eyes, and Aziraphale huffed, ceding a besotted gaze. </p><p>“Alright then.” </p><p>He dutifully went to the hostess. Crowley meandered casually, backing up and standing near the plant for a moment, smiling at a waiter that passed by before he picked the planter up behind his back and slid out the door, smooth as a snake. Aziraphale joined him not a moment later. </p><p>“Did you just <em> steal </em>that plant?” he asked, wild amusement written on his features. </p><p>“I <em> rescued </em> it,” he defended, cradling it in front of him as they walked away, “They were killing it! On purpose!” </p><p>Aziraphale gave him a long look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but it was impossibly soft and he wasn’t in any way inclined to refuse it. He gave a shy grin back, feeling his cheeks heat. The blonde shifted to a smile, exhaling through his nose and shaking his head in wonder.</p><p>“You certainly are a unique little devil, Crowley.” </p><p>Crowley couldn’t argue that point. </p><p>They wandered about for some time, taking a stroll through Berkeley Square before finally saying their goodbyes and promising to meet again on Wednesday. Crowley reveled in their bi-weekly encounters, basking in his angel’s light and soaking up as much as he possibly could in preparation for the wait until the next time. Soon, however, he found himself aching for more. He found himself up at night angry at the idea of what other unworthy men Aziraphale was dating. He found himself staring at his phone multiple times a day, willing the angel to text him. </p><p>He wanted more than twice a week. He wanted more than work. He wanted to breach the tidy formality of scheduled time together and to slide into the comfortable familiarity of having him available at any time. Every time he saw an old book, he wanted to text Aziraphale about it. Every time he saw an old-timey movie, he wanted to tease the angel about how he sounded just like them. Every time he saw a film adaptation of a book, he wanted to shoot the doctor questions. But he would wait. He would wait for permission. He would wait for Aziraphale to break the barrier first. And a month later, he finally did. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 17  1:33 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Hello, Crowley. I hope you’re well. I’m sorry to disturb you in the middle of the work day. It’s just occurred to me that I’ve forgotten to file a large bit of administrative work sitting out on my desk. Terribly careless, I know. Would you be so kind as to relocate the aforementioned documents to a safer location? I appreciate it in advance, I can’t imagine how awfully vexing my forgetfulness must be. I’ve been in Brighton a day now, and I can’t help but suffer from the nagging anxiety that I might have forgotten all manner of important tasks that ought to have been tended to. That said, I do rest much easier knowing you’re there to hold down the fort in my absence. Do take care. Cheers.</p><p>
  <b>Wh-</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Lol</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Who the fuk txts like that? </b>
</p><p>Are you referring to my daring choice to use correct grammar and punctuation? Scandalous, I know.</p><p>
  <b>No lol. I mean it reads lik a letter sent home from the trenches in WWI </b>
</p><p>
  <b>‘It’s been days since I’ve seen the sun. Longer since I’ve known happiness. I fear I may not return alive. Do not forget me. ’ </b>
</p><p>That doesn’t seem entirely inaccurate. It is the High Holidays with my entire family, after all. Twenty-two people in one house. You can imagine the kvetching.</p><p>
  <b>Ha!! Godspeed, u brave brave soldier. Ur nation thanks u</b>
</p><p>
  <b>N dnt wry bout the paperwork. Filed it for u yesterday</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Do u kno how 2nd nature trailin after forgetful drs is 2 me? Rly. dont fuss. S all good </b>
</p><p>Considering I’ve never seen you so much as glance at your phone during work hours, this seems an exorbitant amount of messaging. </p><p>
  <b>Oy! Who texted who?? </b>
</p><p>Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest it’s a bother! It’s not at all. I was just curious.</p><p>
  <b>Not at work. Device asked me 2 take her shift last Sat n give her mine today</b>
</p><p>Right. Do have a good day off. </p><p>
  <b>U kno i hate bein told what 2 do, now i’m obligated 2 fuck it up on purpose </b>
</p><p>My goodness, how barbaric of me. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 17  2:40 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Is lotr any good?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 17  3:14 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Beg pardon? ‘Lotr’? </p><p>
  <b>Lord of the Rings</b>
</p><p>Oh, yes! It’s a marvelous story.</p><p>
  <b>K thx</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Weiss makin Bealz and I binge the whole trilogy w him</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Needed a 2nd opinion 1st </b>
</p><p>I’m flattered to be consulted. Do let me know what you think. </p><p>
  <b>What’s the holiday? </b>
</p><p>Rosh Hashanah</p><p>
  <b>Thats a mouthful </b>
</p><p>Can you say it five times fast? </p><p>
  <b>Wouldn dare 2 try, but we have quite a bit of wine here, so that may change</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ill send u a voice memo if i do</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 17  8:14 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Please feel free to do so. </p><p>
  <b>Is it a happy one? </b>
</p><p>That would depend on what it is you’re referring to.</p><p>
  <b>The holiday, Rosh Hashanah, is it a happy one? </b>
</p><p>Oh, yes! One of my favorites. It’s the Jewish New Year. </p><p>
  <b>Wahoo! Do u get to party like it? </b>
</p><p>Like what? </p><p>
  <b>New Years</b>
</p><p>If your New Years party is characterized by copious amounts of prayer, synagogue, and ceremony, then yes. </p><p>
  <b>Do beer pong or flip cup count as ceremony? </b>
</p><p>Not in this context. Perhaps they should. </p><p>
  <b>Bummer. </b>
</p><p>I’m inclined to feel jealous of your wine situation at the moment. </p><p>
  <b>Can’t drink?</b>
</p><p>I can, a cousin of mine makes the most divine cocktails, but I mustn’t indulge too much; I might risk sharing something of my personal life with judgmental relatives.</p><p>
  <b>Tough choices, there. Just started pourin it out. We’re gonna crush it</b>
</p><p>Don’t forget to eat something. </p><p>
  <b>Isn’ it a holiday? Take a day off dr </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nurse’s orders</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Always wanted to say that</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image] </b>
</p><p>Good company, sushi, wine, and high-fantasy? You have it all sorted. </p><p>
  <b>Oh yeahhhhh, friday night’s comin up alllll Crowley</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 17  10:38 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Y’s it ur fav? rashashana</b>
</p><p>The food is divine. </p><p>
  <b>hTat tracks</b>
</p><p>
  <b>That*</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 18 2:03 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Hanna tog gv </b>
</p><p>
  <b>F uc </b>
</p><p>
  <b>J</b>
</p><p>
  <b>K</b>
</p><p>Dear, are you intentionally messaging me?</p><p>
  <b>Yha!!! Tuping i shard</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Thrhyn to s ay </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Shavotn </b>
</p><p>
  <b>SHanvat a </b>
</p><p>Shanah tovah? </p><p>
  <b>Ahats it! S the one </b>
</p><p>Oh my, that’s sweet of you to say! Or to attempt to, in any case.</p><p>Shanah tovah u'metukah</p><p>
  <b>So glkad 2 jave gooogel </b>
</p><p>What do you mean? Surely, you can’t be informing me that you don’t speak Hebrew? </p><p>
  <b>Sure i cab, jeer loo k - </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Mazel </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Nemsh</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Mensch *</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Uh </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Schviit z </b>
</p><p>
  <b>bit don t aquiz last o ane atke my wrd 4 it </b>
</p><p>I hate to tell you this after you’ve gone and mastered the language, but all of those are Yiddish, dear. </p><p>
  <b>N jere i thyg t produigoy </b>
</p><p>I’ve failed to decipher that one, I’m afraid. I assume you and the others are still at it? </p><p>
  <b>Jus st now s Nis ove r </b>
</p><p>What’s over?</p><p>
  <b>Lort Novi e narathon  </b>
</p><p>My lord! Didn’t you start that half a day ago, now?</p><p>
  <b>Lung a s duck  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Long * </b>
</p><p>You must be absolutely knackered. Shouldn’t you be sleeping instead of messaging with me? </p><p>
  <b>2 buch think ing </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Quest ions </b>
</p><p>About Lord of the Rings? </p><p>
  <b>Ys abswr  4me? </b>
</p><p>You’d like me to answer them? I’ll do my very best. </p><p>
  <b> How cud vrodo le abe Sam </b>
</p><p>
  <b>San lo ved and so lots </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Bt marred sme bitch and they </b>
</p><p>
  <b> kids? Wh t spit in tbe face </b>
</p><p>
  <b>thy r bad at lv eac Heather  </b>
</p><p>Give me a moment to be impressed with myself for understanding the gist of what you’re attempting to convey.</p><p>Love takes many forms, as you know. I suppose the relationship between Sam and Frodo was less of a lover’s and more of what I’d imagine you have with Dr. Bealz.</p><p>
  <b>No dr hust bea</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Wd nev arleave B n go off on duck</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ing</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Stupd boat </b>
</p><p>Oh dear. I suppose we all handle trauma in different ways. Frodo was unable to recover from his while remaining in The Shire. </p><p>
  <b>Foiud take hobbt alnd ovr glasgw an say</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Lond</b>
</p><p>
  <b>London</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ugrateful </b>
</p><p>Pardon? </p><p>
  <b>Hobbit  land rule s stupid 2 leave </b>
</p><p>Ah. Yes, The Shire is a peaceful little place, one of my favorites from all the books I’ve read. I agree that it’s difficult to imagine anybody would wish to leave. In Frodo’s case, however, I believe it had more to do with the fact that traveling to the Undying Lands had the potential of relieving him of the biannual return of his injuries. </p><p>
  <b>He h  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>?</b>
</p><p>Where have I lost you? </p><p>
  <b>Terun of in jurs </b>
</p><p>Oh! Was that not in the cinematic adaptation? </p><p>
  <b>No </b>
</p><p>Yes. On the anniversary of both the stabbing at Weathertop and the incident with Shelob (the giant spider) our poor Frodo gets terribly ill. He must relive the physical and emotional trauma of each event. </p><p>
  <b>O</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Hat blows </b>
</p><p>On that we agree. </p><p>
  <b>Wbout Piip n mry  </b>
</p><p>What about them, dear boy? </p><p>
  <b>Foe s y he book say wut hap prns to trm ?  </b>
</p><p>Yes. Quite fun to read about really. </p><p>
  <b>W dll put w it </b>
</p><p>What was that? </p><p>
  <b>Put </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ot</b>
</p><p>
  <b>OUT </b>
</p><p>
  <b>W it! </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fk</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Plz</b>
</p><p>You really ought to read the books. </p><p>
  <b>Jst want na libo if hey get marr ried !!! </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Kno &amp; </b>
</p><p>
  <b>**</b>
</p><p>They do. </p><p>
  <b>Hasp </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Gaps </b>
</p><p>
  <b>E gays win </b>
</p><p>Oh! I’m sorry, dear; I misunderstood the question. They do get married but not to each other. </p><p>
  <b>! vtybuipnkl</b>
</p><p>Yes. There’s great literary debate over the question of the themes of homosexual subtext in Tolkien’s books and if they were intentional, and trust me, the subtext is there, intended or no. To some extent, it was important for authors to protect themselves from receiving such claims during the time period in which the books were published. However, I’ve always felt that the inclusion of Pippin and Merry marrying unnamed and irrelevant hobbit women was rather unnecessary. </p><p>
  <b>Hm ph </b>
</p><p>
  <b>U tell jim angel</b>
</p><p>Tell J.R.R. Tolkien? </p><p>
  <b>YA</b>
</p><p>Oh yes, I will organize a seance and give the old chap a stern talking to posthaste.</p><p>
  <b>GeTTEM ANGLE </b>
</p><p>So what did you think of the story as a whole? </p><p>
  <b>4 no gays is berry gay.  </b>
</p><p>Yes, well. I suppose some of that has to do with the fact that Tolkien writes very few female characters. </p><p>
  <b>I kiked rlf girl </b>
</p><p>
  <b>elf*</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ehen s he brought frofo  to elv land n wooshed awa </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ring hhun t ing lord rankers in  The river</b>
</p><p>
  <b>wankers*</b>
</p><p>Hm. I assume you’re referring to Arwen, but I don’t recall such a scene. </p><p>
  <b>U shld eatvh rhe moves </b>
</p><p>
  <b>U can yell m e wat u hink </b>
</p><p>I don’t very much enjoy sitting idle throughout the duration of long films. Especially not when they bastardize beloved classics. </p><p>
  <b>Nut this 1 is diff gerent </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Pretty </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Pike u </b>
</p><p>Perhaps I’ll give it the old college try if you agree to read the books, in turn. </p><p>
  <b>Hhhh </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Vad reeadr me </b>
</p><p>I don’t believe one can be a bad reader. </p><p>
  <b>Het rdy to helieve </b>
</p><p>Oh! So you will read them? </p><p>
  <b>I f u like </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Im ded </b>
</p><p>I certainly hope not.</p><p>
  <b>Dun wry! Just slepoy </b>
</p><p>How kind of you to reassure me. Know that I am greatly relieved. </p><p>
  <b>guanigth angle</b>
</p><p>Goodnight, Crowley. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 18 10:43 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Y?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 18 12:46 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Sorry for the wait, dear. I was taking a swim. What are you asking?</p><p>
  <b>M askin y! Y would u entertain sloshed Crowley harassing u at 2 AM!!! That jackassery hardly deserves encouragement!!!!!!</b>
</p><p>I rather think you were the one entertaining me. </p><p>
  <b>Hhhhhggggghhhhhh</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Arvefsdjkf k;a</b>
</p><p>
  <b>How bloody embarrassing </b>
</p><p>I believe the word you're looking for is ‘endearing’. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <b> <em> <span class="u">Text From AJ Crowley September 20 11:03 AM</span> </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>How’s the holiday?</b>
</p><p>It’s going quite smoothly, save for some spats between extended family. Thank you for asking.</p><p>
  <b>Good, good</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image] </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Bealz had the set </b>
</p><p>Oh lovely! Are you starting The Fellowship of the Ring today?</p><p>
  <b>Hell knos I’m gon try</b>
</p><p>That’s wonderful, my dear. You’re in for a treat. Feel free to share your thoughts at any time.</p><p>Excuse me.</p><p>
  <b>Ye</b>
</p><p>Crowley?</p><p>
  <b>Thas me </b>
</p><p>What on earth is poking over the top of the boxset in that photo?</p><p>
  <b>U don’t want 2 kno </b>
</p><p>
  <b>It’s a holy day, angel</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Let it b</b>
</p><p>Is that… what I think it is? </p><p>
  <b>Uh. depends on wut u think it is </b>
</p><p>
  <b>But again,</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I wud encourage u 2 let it fade from memory while u can </b>
</p><p>Right. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 20 5:03 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ur still thinking bout it aren’t u?</b>
</p><p>Of course I am! How could I not be?</p><p>
  <b>It’s an articulated monkey skeleton lol. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image]</b>
</p><p>Oh, dear, I see it now. I am enormously relieved. </p><p>Although it’s worth noting I remain unsettled. </p><p>
  <b>Yeah Bealz is a weird 1 </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ull get used to it</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 20 9:05 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>If you wantto, s all i meant</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Not trying to bully you into being friends w us</b>
</p><p>Are we not friends? </p><p>
  <b>Fuck no</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck fuck that’s no t what i meant</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I meant ‘fuck me, no that’s not what i meant, course we’re friends’ </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Shit sorry</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ugh </b>
</p><p>There’s absolutely no need to work yourself into a state. </p><p>Although it’s almost as if… grammar and punctuation exist to avoid misunderstandings such as these. Hmmm. An interesting proposition to consider, no? </p><p>
  <b>Lmao bastard </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 22 7:01 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Good morning. I know you’re not in until ten, but I thought you ought to know there’s one OD admission as well as a bridge-jump in critical condition incoming.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 22 8:37 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Thx 4 the heads up angel</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Rly </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Hav a proper breakfast?</b>
</p><p>That depends what you consider proper. </p><p>
  <b>So u forgot then</b>
</p><p>I suppose I did. You know how things have a tendency to get away from me. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 22 9:42 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image] </b>
</p><p>Are you boasting? </p><p>
  <b>No u massive dork</b>
</p><p>
  <b>S 4 u</b>
</p><p>You bought me breakfast! </p><p>
  <b>I did. Breakfast pie incoming </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Told u it’s 2nd nature followin after forgetful drs</b>
</p><p>Right, so you do this for all the doctors?</p><p>
  <b>… w/e</b>
</p><p>Oh, aren’t you so sweet? Here you call me ‘angel’ and yet you’re always working miracles for me. </p><p>
  <b>Ghhhhhhhhh! </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Shut it </b>
</p><p>Hmm, let’s see… tetchy and refusing praise- has ‘Work Crowley’ made an early appearance? </p><p>
  <b>Chuckin it now </b>
</p><p>Are you? </p><p>
  <b>Damned right</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 22 10:26 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>My, my. A breakfast pie has appeared on my desk. </p><p>
  <b>Has it </b>
</p><p>It has. Looks quite similar to the one you threw in the bin.</p><p>
  <b>Strange world lots of mysteries</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 22 10:41 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Oh my but that was delicious. </p><p>
  <b>Glad u liked it angel </b>
</p><p>You really are such a thoughtful dearheart. One of the good ones. </p><p>
  <b>Not so sure bout that </b>
</p><p>That’s alright, you don’t have to be. I’m certain enough for the both of us. </p><p>
  <b>mmm h </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 23 4:41 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Hullo. I was wondering if you’re sure you want to come to trivia?</p><p>
  <b>Ouch </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m that rubbish at it?</b>
</p><p>You’re not. I’ve just noticed you get a bit overwhelmed, which is absolutely understandable. You tolerate impatience, time limits, being spoken over, and cacophonies of shouting all day long. It’s no marvel that enduring the same in your limited free time would have the same effect.</p><p>
  <b>How do u do that </b>
</p><p>How do I do what? </p><p>
  <b>Nvm </b>
</p><p>What is it, Crowley?</p><p>
  <b>Nothin to worry ur pretty blonde head ovr</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Idk i’ll just come watch or smth. Want 2 hang out </b>
</p><p>With the rest of the group, with me, or with all of the above?</p><p>
  <b>Uhhh just u pretty much the rest of that lot r kind of twits i outgrew about 5 yrs ago n haven’t known how to dump</b>
</p><p>That certainly explains why Bealz doesn’t attend. </p><p>
  <b>Ohhh yeah their official stance is that they won’t enable me bein a coward</b>
</p><p>You’re not a coward. You’re considerate and compassionate. </p><p>If you’d like, we could do something else. </p><p>
  <b>Oh no don’t</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’ll stay home, yeah? U lov trivia</b>
</p><p>I really don’t. I think what you mean is that I do well at it. </p><p>
  <b>Huh? </b>
</p><p>You have seen me interact with our trivia group, yes? If it were our hospital friends perhaps it would be different. </p><p>
  <b>Wait, so u just come 2 hang with me?</b>
</p><p>That was the incentive upon joining, but it truly is a wretched place for conversation as good as ours. </p><p>
  <b>Oh</b>
</p><p>Yes, “oh.” So would you like to go elsewhere? If you’d prefer to stay in of course I understand. </p><p>
  <b>No!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I mean Fuk, yeah the 1st 1 </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Elsewhere</b>
</p><p>Lovely. Shall I call and we can decide where to go?</p><p>
  <b>Sounds great, that</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Outgoing Call AJ Crowley September 23 5:05 PM: Duration 19 minutes</em> </b> </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 23 11:58 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Did you arrive home safely? </p><p>
  <b>Yeh, u? </b>
</p><p>I’ve just gotten back now. </p><p>Thank you for introducing me to that Italian bistro! It was lovely.</p><p>
  <b>Course. N thank U 4 agreeing 2 go 2 the cinema. Kno u don’t like films</b>
</p><p>That’s not true. What I said is that I don’t like novel adaptations or lengthy films. That one was as beautiful as it was heartbreaking. </p><p>
  <b>Glad u thought so.</b>
</p><p>You’re still pouting? </p><p>
  <b>If i knew wat it was about i wouldn have gone im never letting u pick again</b>
</p><p>You asked for me to pick.</p><p>Oh, I understand now. You must have a trend of crying at emotional movies? </p><p>
  <b>… wasnt crying</b>
</p><p>Oh you absolutely were, dear boy. I’ve never seen such earnest tears in my life. </p><p>
  <b>Can’t be, didn’t happen</b>
</p><p>It was entirely too precious. </p><p>
  <b>Goodnight u bastard </b>
</p><p>Goodnight, my dear. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 24 7:22 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Break a leg tonight. </b>
</p><p>That turn of phrase is best suited to remain in theatre. Outside of that context it really serves as more of an ominous command, hardly appropriate for a nurse to be saying. Really, Crowley. So unprofessional. </p><p>
  <b>Thas me. Unprofessional out the wazoo.</b>
</p><p>Remind me what’s happening tonight in which I’ll be anxiously awaiting grievous injury? </p><p>
  <b>Heard you had a date. I hope he’s more tolerable than that last ridiculous sod. </b>
</p><p>It’s becoming apparent you know something I don’t. </p><p>I was planning a night in with a new book. Should I be worried my doordash driver is going to spring a romantic evening on me upon delivery of my Chinese? </p><p>
  <b>Damn, uve spoiled it 4 him! He wanted it 2 b a surprise. Hired a string quartet n everything. Poor wee bugger’s gonna be devastated</b>
</p><p>Ah, yes. I am quite the heartbreaker. </p><p>
  <b>I don’t doubt it, angel. See u at work.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 24 8:56 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image]</b>
</p><p>Ah. A plant. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 24 11:41 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Meant to send to somebody else. Sorry.</b>
</p><p>Is that so? It’s just a coincidence, then, that this plant’s named “Angel’s Wings”? </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 25 12:22 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Crowley, are you well? </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 25 9:32 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>More of a fact than a coincidence, rly. Good job w that. I rescued them, thought it was a sign u 2 belonged together but I'm not sure “oh. a plant” foretells a very happy home life</b>
</p><p>Stolen from another restaurant? </p><p>
  <b>No, a patio, and not stolen, saved and rehabilitated. What do u have 2 say for urself Dr. Fell </b>
</p><p>I say it’s very charming that you thought of me. However, I’m afraid I have quite the black thumb, and it might break my heart to bring about the demise of a gift you gave me. </p><p>
  <b>Ty for the honesty. We here at Crowley’s plant sanctuary take our rehoming process v srsly, u kno</b>
</p><p>A plant sanctuary? You don’t say. That sounds like quite the operation. </p><p>
  <b>Lololol ur doing a bang-up job of being coy n i hate 2 disrupt it buuuuuuut</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image]</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image]</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image]</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image]</b>
</p><p>My Lord! These are all yours? </p><p>
  <b>Was gonna say ‘duh’ but yes I am the equivalent of a crazy old cat lady </b>
</p><p>
  <b>A bonkers old plant bloke, i guess</b>
</p><p>
  <b>U were gonna figure out at some point figured I might as well have a bit of fun w springing it on u</b>
</p><p>Oh, Crowley, but they are absolutely beautiful. Your entire flat looks like a botanical garden.</p><p>
  <b>They’d best b pretty after all my hard work if they kno wut’s good for em</b>
</p><p>How can you stand to live in the city when you clearly have such a deep love of nature? </p><p>
  <b>Dunno much bout nature. Only ever known cities. Plants can live anywhere n b happy. Just need 2 b looked after properly, u know? </b>
</p><p>What entails proper care past the whole ‘soil, water, and sunshine’ business?</p><p>
  <b>Well that’s certainly a gud bulk of it but I suppose they need patience n attention n sometimes a firm hand, too. Can’t meet their own needs, so they need 2 b cared for n looked after. I do right by them, so they stay where I stay and theyre happy</b>
</p><p>Are you happy?</p><p>
  <b>Wha?</b>
</p><p>Do you like plants because you feel you can relate to them? </p><p>
  <b>R u- ? </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Hells bells angel lol i kno im a bit of a diva but no i do not need attention to survive</b>
</p><p>I wasn’t asking about survival. </p><p>
  <b>U fucking soft southerners </b>
</p><p>
  <b>B like us proper brits n bury that rubbish</b>
</p><p>By rubbish do you mean emotions, empathy, and the desire for happiness? </p><p>
  <b>Yeah! Them. Rubbish.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Be by at 6:30 to pick u up for shul</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Look at me learning new words</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Color you impressed? </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Angel? </b>
</p><p>Yes. Thank you. I’ll see you then. </p><p>
  <b>Mmm </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From Unknown Number September 26 7:42 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Oy, it’s Beatrix mfing Bealz. Messagin to set the record straight.</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Add Contact</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Name: Beatrix Bealz</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to Beatrix Bealz September 26 9:09 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Hello there. What record might that be? </p><p>
  <b> <em>The one involvin that stupid white plant. Figured Crowley didn tell you the whole story.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Bar hoppin a couple weeks back and he saw it and shouted ‘Angel’s Wings! Angel needs it! He hasn’t got any wings!’ </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>And then proceeded to scale a foreclosed building</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Think I recorded it actually….</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>[Sent: Video] </em> </b>
</p><p>Oh dear Lord! That’s two floors up! Why on earth were you all helping him? You should have discouraged him! He could have broken his neck! </p><p>
  <b> <em>¯\_(ツ)_/¯ No talking him out of it when he’s like that.</em> </b>
</p><p>I’d at least think it worth the attempt.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Wild child, that one. If anyone can tame him, guess it’s you. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 26 9:33 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Crowley? </p><p>
  <b>That’s me </b>
</p><p>Do you think you might permit me to reapply for custody of that Angel’s Wings? </p><p>
  <b>Hmmmm 🤔🤔🤔 dunno angel </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Convince me y i should</b>
</p><p>Alright. I know I might seem careless and forgetful, but I do think I’m quite capable of fulfilling those needs you mentioned. When it comes to things that are precious I’m very eager and exceedingly good at looking after them.</p><p>
  <b>Oh </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Yeah i’ll uh, bring it next friday, yeah? </b>
</p><p>That would be very kind of you. </p><p>
  <b>Mmm </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Make it back 2 brighton alright? </b>
</p><p>I have. Thank you for asking.</p><p>
  <b>Cant believe ur gone AGAIN whose bright idea was it 2 put holidays 10 days apart</b>
</p><p>How many days are between Christmas and New Years Eve, again? </p><p>
  <b>…. touche</b>
</p><p>
  <b>But still, abandoning ur post n leavin me 2 hold it down? There’s gonna be a mutiny against me. Dun be surprised when u get back if my head is on a spike</b>
</p><p>
  <b>tsk tsk angel</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Blimey uve been typing 4ever </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Have me nervous now</b>
</p><p>Perhaps I’ve been putting this off; I really ought to have asked you earlier in the week. I know we didn’t particularly get on in the beginning, and I have a difficult time believing it wasn’t because I wronged you somehow. Is there anything I said or did from then until now that’s made you feel hurt or cross in any way? Please do be honest, it’s enormously important that I know. </p><p>
  <b>Woa h uh hnnn</b>
</p><p>
  <b>This is a very scary line of questioning??? What brought this on? Have I made you think I’m cross? </b>
</p><p>Oh! It’s for Yom Kippur, the holiday tomorrow. A good deal of it is about atonement and seeking forgiveness for those you’ve transgressed. So sorry to frighten you. </p><p>
  <b>Phew. fuck. Thought id been a tosser on accident or smth</b>
</p><p>Not at all. So, does anything come to mind I owe you an apology for? </p><p>
  <b>Yes. uve stollen about 50 fucking pens n 2 stethoscopes from me now </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m convinced theres a mysterious portal in ur white coat that u chuck em into n they just appear thru a wormhole on the other side of the cosmos or smth</b>
</p><p>I thought they were the hospital’s pens? </p><p>
  <b>Wh?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>No! lol! We buy our own fking pens! U shd try it sometime!!!!</b>
</p><p>Oh dear, that is quite awful of me. I hadn’t any idea. </p><p>I’m truly sorry that I treated your things with such carelessness. I’d imagine that made you feel undervalued and unappreciated, which are both terrible emotions to burden you with. I’m sorry to disregard your extension of the plant, as well. It really was so very kind of you to think of me. I value and appreciate you very much, both as a coworker and a close friend. In the time I’ve been in London, you’ve become a very important person in my life. As such, it’s crucial to me that I only treat you with the respect and admiration you deserve. I’ll get you a bulk order of new pens (the nice top-click ballpoints you like) and whatever you’d like in turn for the two lost stethoscopes, as I’m sure you don’t need three. I’ll never treat your things so carelessly again. Can you forgive me? </p><p>
  <b>Hghhh</b>
</p><p>Are you alright, my dear? </p><p>
  <b>U brk me 1 sec</b>
</p><p>Of course. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 26 10:52 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Ok so</b>
</p><p>
  <b>U realize I am not at all deserving of an apology like that? </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I duncare bout the fckung pens </b>
</p><p>Of course you are. I wronged you. </p><p>
  <b>Angel fuc yeah i forgive u but tha’s just </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Who apologizes like tht??</b>
</p><p>That’s how my grandfather taught me to do it, so my family, I suppose. </p><p>
  <b>Apparently so??? </b>
</p><p>Anything else you need an apology for? </p><p>
  <b>Yes stop being so fkcin g nice 2 me how dare u</b>
</p><p>Hm. I don’t believe that quite meets the criteria of a transgression. Besides, that apology would hardly be authentic. You deserve kindness, and it breaks my heart that you’ve received so little of it that it’s now an anomaly to you. </p><p>
  <b>Vfyugi;jl</b>
</p><p>Oh dear, have I broken you again? </p><p>
  <b>Yes. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Bstrd </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 27 12:43 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>R u allowed to txt tomorrow? </b>
</p><p>Fortunately for you, I’ve chosen to abstain. Starting tonight around seven thirty through tomorrow night at eight thirty, my phone will be off. </p><p>
  <b>Y fortunate? </b>
</p><p>
  <b>O is this the fasting 1? </b>
</p><p>One of the two. Twenty-five hours.</p><p>
  <b>Fuk ur a menace after nine hours not eating. Wat r u like after 25?? Godzilla?? </b>
</p><p>I wouldn’t advise you to put any cities in my path. </p><p>
  <b>lmao!</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 27 4:07 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Did some research</b>
</p><p>Concerning?</p><p>
  <b>Yom Kippur </b>
</p><p>
  <b>The point of fasting n all </b>
</p><p>Oh? Any thoughts? </p><p>
  <b>Seems… hmm can’t think of the word</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Harrowing? </b>
</p><p>I wouldn’t disagree, but I’m interested in how you figure it to be so? </p><p>
  <b>That much self-reflection n existential thought. I can hardly stand the 2 hrs of thinking bout myself in therapy evry week lol </b>
</p><p>Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it can be tough, but you emerge from it with a whole new perspective and commit to being a better person. </p><p>
  <b>Dunno if u can get any better</b>
</p><p>I’m certainly inclined to try. </p><p>
  <b>Uh so</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m rly having a hard time with this reading business</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Embarrassing rly, keep rereading the same parts ovr n ovr</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Is it disappointing if i listen 2 the audio book instead? Better at listening</b>
</p><p>Not at all! That’s perfectly fine, dear boy. </p><p>
  <b>Right, i’ll do that then</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From AJ Crowley September 27 5:58 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>G’mar hatima tova and uh? Have a meaningful fast?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Is that right? </b>
</p><p>It is! Thank you dear. How thoughtful you are.</p><p>
  <b>Right, catch u on the other side </b>
</p><p>I hope you do. </p><p>
  <b>Mm. Cheers</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to AJ Crowley September 29 12:21 AM </em> </b> </span>
</p><p>Hullo </p><p>
  <b>Fuk, u sloshed, then? </b>
</p><p>Oh, I wouldn’t say i’m all the way there. </p><p>Yet. What would make you think so?</p><p>
  <b>No . after hullo</b>
</p><p>
  <b>N face it the lowercase i in “i’m” settles it </b>
</p><p>Clever little devil, you. </p><p>
  <b>That’s me ;) </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ain’t the grown-ups gonna have your hide? Plastered on the high holidays, naughty naughty </b>
</p><p>Beg your pardon, I do believe I’m rather grown-up, and I’ll have you know the holiday is over.</p><p>Snuck off to the meach with my sister and a couple cousins</p><p>Off to the beach, I meant. </p><p>
  <b>Lol kno wutt u meant, n u can just correct the specific word if u feel compelled 2 correct at all </b>
</p><p>Have you any idea how difficult 25 hours with no distractions and a mother who’s constantly playing matchmaker is?</p><p>
  <b>I cannot say i do on either count. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Drunk angel doesn’t type out #s </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Like it</b>
</p><p>Do you, now?</p><p>
  <b>Yep, dig the bad boi vibe</b>
</p><p>Oh yes you know me. Living on the edge. </p><p>
  <b>Gasp n abandoning punctuation </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m swoonin! </b>
</p><p>Is that all it takes then? </p><p>I haven’t even told you what a good boy you are. </p><p>
  <b>Cheeeeeeky!!!!</b>
</p><p>My sister would like to know if you’re cute. </p><p>
  <b>Hm. I’d like to think so. </b>
</p><p>Oh good. </p><p>
  <b>Oh good what? </b>
</p><p>Oh good you’re not entirely self-deluded. </p><p>
  <b>Drunk angel is RUDE</b>
</p><p>She requests a picture</p><p>
  <b>May I know the name of the lovely lady asking after me? </b>
</p><p>Gweneviere, my baby sister. Only 36. </p><p>
  <b>Gweneviere and Aziraphale, thos r sum intense names</b>
</p><p>Oh yes Dad is a bit of a fantasy fanatic. </p><p>
  <b>He chose the names then?</b>
</p><p>Yes. Only decisions Mum ever let him make. Perhaps that was her wat of an apology.</p><p>Way </p><p>
  <b>lol</b>
</p><p>
  <b>U get along well then? W Gweneviere? </b>
</p><p>Send your face </p><p>
  <b>Rude AND bossy, Noted </b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image] </b>
</p><p>No glasses</p><p>
  <b>Tch, not even a please?</b>
</p><p>We both know you’re going to do it either way. Would a ‘please’ make you feel better?</p><p>
  <b>Lol, shameless!!!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I like it</b>
</p><p>Oh, I’m very aware.</p><p>
  <b>hnfhjdklsa</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Image]</b>
</p><p>Thank you darling.</p><p>Alright? You’ve been typing for millenia</p><p>
  <b>U kno most people just use fb </b>
</p><p>What’s fb? </p><p>
  <b>Lmao satan, angel. Facebook</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Edit Contact</em> </b> </span>
</p><p><b>Name: </b> <strike> <b>AJ Crowley</b> </strike></p><p>
  <b>Name: Charming Little Devil</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Add Photo: [Uploaded]</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From Charming Little Devil September 29 12:56 AM </em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Plz tell me u didn’t pass out in the sand? </b>
</p><p>Geavens no</p><p>Heavens </p><p>Although Gwen very nearly did upon seeing that photo. </p><p>
  <b>Bc she so terribly agrees or disagrees w my self-assessment? </b>
</p><p>I can’t tell over all the angry shouting she’s directing at me</p><p>,</p><p>
  <b>Lol how was your fast? Is that ok to ask? </b>
</p><p>My dear you may ask me anything. I’m very gappy with how it went. </p><p>Happy</p><p>I’ve decided I could benefit greatly from being a bit braver.</p><p>
  <b>Yeah? N wat shall ur first great act of bravery be o ye gallant knight? </b>
</p><p>I’m determined to stop dawdling about in my love life. Time to pull the proverbial trigger, I should think. </p><p>
  <b>Oh </b>
</p><p>
  <b>U got a bloke in mind? </b>
</p><p>Oh, most certainly. In fact I haven’t been able to get him out of it for some time now.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From Charming Little Devil September 29 2:34 AM </em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Right then, hope it goes your way. He’d be an idiot to turn you down. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You deserve to be happy, Aziraphale. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Really.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I know you forgot to take any hangover precautions. Water, tea, naproxen, &amp; carbs in the morning, even if you don’t want to eat. Your big doctor brain will be too much of a cerebral matter slushy to remember.</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Crowley... Crowley set down the Dumb Bitch Juice. I'm begging you. Stop chugging it like your life depends on it. </p><p>lmao<br/>by the end of it their thought processes are basically<br/>Crowley: If it were me he would just say so ;&lt;<br/>Aziraphale: You adorable dumbass I'm not about to ask you out over text message. </p><p>I couldn't wait to post this chapter. It's too much fun. Especially the drunk texting. I had to share!!! I really enjoyed a lot of the spectating that Crowley would be heart broken when finding out Aziraphale was dating around. Our boy is dead set on the path of "act first, think later". </p><p>Thanks for all your comments! I LOVE seeing what you guys liked and how you're feeling about the fic~ Hope you guys are staying safe, wearing masks, and practicing social distancing!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Arachnophobia, if you're so affected you can't read relevant passages, skip the bold! After the third bold, it's not mentioned again.</p><p>The BEAUTIFUL art provided in this chapter is made by FreedomAttack (AKA Free) and commissioned by my lovely friend Beckers522 (go read their stuff). You can find links to Free's stuff below.<br/>https://twitter.com/Free00746552/status/1296171037575520256?s=20<br/>https://freedomattack.tumblr.com/post/626908033223655425/another-commission-ready-a-tender-scene-from</p><p>And Bex' AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckers522/pseuds/Beckers522 (seriously, there's a lot of stories and they're all amazing)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley wanted to be mad. He wanted to glare at that smile that felt like sunshine when he saw Aziraphale that Thursday. He wanted to put in a transfer to the Trauma OR and not look back. He wanted to remove the angel from his life entirely if he couldn’t have him.</p><p>At least, he thought those were the things he wanted. Then the doctor came in and said good morning and looked at him like he was worth his weight in gold and the only emotion left was desperation. The truth occurred to him, and he couldn’t care less about how shameful it was; he would chase after at Aziraphale’s heels if it meant catching the scraps that fell. He was an angel, and Crowley wasn’t quite sure what had possessed him to think he was worthy of celestial love. He himself was less than a mortal. He was the bottom of the barrel. He was something low and disgusting that had crawled its way up from Hell and masqueraded as a human. If it meant remaining the friend of a divine protector, of catching just a few rays that bounced off his wings, Crowley wouldn’t go anywhere. </p><p>It was an easy enough day. Not nearly as busy as he’d like. He couldn’t even brood properly, as every time he found a window of opportunity to do as much, Dr. Fell seemed to appear out of thin air, telling him what a blessing he was or making him laugh. </p><p>His favorite patient of the day was a ten year old girl who was a bit big for her britches.<strong> The poor thing had a spider crawling about in her ear canal.</strong> Crowley couldn’t say he would be quite as calm in her situation, but children were always impressing him with how brave and durable they were. It was part of the reason he always liked them. Her name was Marie, and she had asked how his eyes worked. Not to be mean, clearly. The sentiment was born of unadulterated curiosity. Thinking himself quite clever, he’d shot back a, “how do <em> your </em>eyes work?” and been rendered looking quite foolish as she explained the exact functionality of the human eye. Oh, he and Dr. Fell had shared quite a grin at that, and together they explained genetic mutations and consequentially, coloboma. </p><p>“Well, it looks wicked,” she had said very matter-of-factly, as if her declaration would become law by being spoken into the world. </p><p>Crowley had given her a smart grin and promised, “I’ll be sure to inform the naysayers that you said so.” </p><p><strong>It took patience and time to draw the creature within reach.</strong> Quiet moments in a dark exam bay with a soft, bright light shining near Marie’s ear, whispering to each other about biology and medical science. Dr. Fell insisted she should become a doctor. Crowley insisted she didn’t seem smug enough for it and that nursing was absolutely the way to go. </p><p>The redhead tried to remain focused on assisting and not fixing a hopeless gaze at the doctor, focusing astutely at the ear canal with waiting forceps. In this light, his eyes likened seaglass, and how fitting that someone so fond of the ocean would carry a bit of it with him wherever he went. Indeed it was a part of him. Just like the vast depths of the waters, he too was teeming with life, mystery, power, and beauty. Crowley decided then and there that he didn’t need to know whatever son of a bitch had earned his affections to know they didn’t deserve him. </p><p>
  <strong>The spider peaked out from its hiding place, and Aziraphale snatched it with ease. </strong>
</p><p>Crowley planned another outing with the other nurses for the weekend- always Saturday nights now, to accommodate for Aziraphale’s religious commitments- and promised everyone to see them at karaoke. Yet again, Bealz was stuck in surgery, so he resigned himself to wander home alone. He wasn’t sure if it was self-hatred or the need to be soothed that drove him to Aziraphale’s office door, but either way, he felt both anguish and comfort as the doctor looked up at him and smiled so sincerely. </p><p>“Oh! Would you like to walk out together, Crowley?” </p><p>“If you like,” the redhead hummed in the perfect depiction of nonchalance, as if his heart wasn’t beating so hard he suspected it was making an escape attempt from his chest. </p><p>Their stride together side-by-side was something of comfortable familiarity now. Crowley resigned himself to believe that even if he’d failed in piquing the doctor’s romantic or sexual intrigue, at least he had one of the closest friendships he’d had in ages, save for Bealz. Perhaps <em> the </em>closest. He knew for a fact that if he was in pain, Aziraphale would want to know- that he would do anything in his power to help. And indeed, he was a powerful person to have at one’s side. </p><p>Every sensible atom in the nurse’s body urged him not to ask, but they were far outnumbered by the teeming masses of self-loathing ones. Before he could stop himself, the words were tumbling out of his mouth.</p><p>“How goes your resolution?” </p><p>“Pardon?” the doctor asked.</p><p>Ah, excellent. A chance to backtrack, to recede his curiosity and not chuck his heart to its demise.</p><p>He didn’t take it.</p><p>“You know. Bravery in romance and all that.” He sniffed, scratching his nose and averting his gaze as if every nerve wasn’t alight in anticipation of the answer he might receive. </p><p>“Oh! I’m so glad you asked, dear boy. I rather think I have the evening all planned out, but I wanted to know what you think of it.” </p><p>It took all the composure Crowley had not to stop hard in his swagger and balk at the doctor. Instead he cleared his throat, which felt remarkably tight and suffocating. </p><p>“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Shoot.” </p><p>Aziraphale looked thrilled beyond reason. If Crowley wasn’t so busy agonizing over his hope crumbling to dust, he would think the massive grin and excited wiggle was quite cute. </p><p>“Right! Well. Regent’s Park open air theatre is putting on an action classics film night on Sunday. I thought it might make for a fun evening.” </p><p>Oh, and what a way to twist the knife. It was a good thing the nurse knew better, else he might suspect the doctor of antagonizing him on purpose. He knew damned well Crowley loved action films, yet here he was taking some other sucker out to see them under the stars. Aziraphale didn’t even <em> like </em>that sort of cinema. Another bout of jealousy turned the taste in his mouth sour. Some lucky arsehole, this was. </p><p>“Action classics? Really? Like what?”</p><p>“Oh, I can’t remember the specifics. All 20th century films, if I do recall correctly. James Bond, Indiana Jones, Chuck Norris, that sort of thing. </p><p>Crowley nearly sat down in the middle of the hallway and started bawling. </p><p>“Oh, wow. Open air, though. October. Bit nippy,” he snipped. Really. If he was intent on ruining Aziraphale’s date, the least he could do was come up with a better argument to dissuade him. The swirling storm in his head of jealousy, scorn, and sadness was <em> really </em>throwing him off his game. </p><p>“Yes! I’ve thought of that. I should think a blanket and some cocoa might do the trick, don’t you agree?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Crowley croaked out, finding himself out of arguments. His angel had really thought this through. He’d clearly been thinking about it. Clearly <em> cared </em> about this person. How had it been right under his nose the whole time? He’d been so sure- so sure Aziraphale was at least a <em> little </em> interested in him. So certain that text about taking care of the plant had been a clear insinuation that he wanted to take care of <em> Crowley. </em>That was just him, though. Reading into everything. Seeing only what he wanted. Rose-tinted lenses and all that. “That sounds… absolutely perfect, angel.” </p><p>“Wonderful!” Aziraphale chirped, clapping his hands together, “So that’s the ticket, then?”</p><p>“Well, it’d do you good to buy a bloke dinner first,” the redhead drawled with no shortage of saltiness in his tone. While he was touched to be the angel’s go-to as a confidant, he could only handle this for so long. </p><p>“Oh, of course! I have every intention of doing so, except I thought it would only be polite to inquire after your preferences, first.” </p><p>“<em> My </em>preferences? Why would you need to kn-” </p><p>Crowley stopped short. The doctor slowed, stepping out of the center of the hallway and drawing near to him with a polite, patient demeanor. He folded his hands in front of himself, unbothered as the nurse proceeded to gawk at him for a solid thirty seconds. At last, Crowley turned to look about himself, as if there might be someone else Aziraphale had meant to address. Finding himself at a loss for any such presence, the redhead turned back, shoving his hands into his scrubs trouser pockets and slouching as casually as he could manage. His voice was tight, battling the suave tone he attempted.</p><p>“You’re... asking me out?” It wasn’t meant to sound like a question. It was one, of course, but it wasn’t supposed to <em> sound </em>like it. </p><p>“Well, I am <em> trying, </em>but I’m afraid you’re making it rather difficult for me,” the doctor retorted with that sly, devilish grin in place. Crowley felt his face heat. </p><p>“Oh,” Crowley kicked himself, doing his best to recover, “That’s- yeah of course. I’d love to. Text me the details?” </p><p>“Of course! Oh, this is just lovely. I’m very much looking forward to it,” Aziraphale hummed. If Crowley was affected by the bouts of praise and accomplishments of pleasing the blonde before, he was practically incapacitated by undeniable delightedness the doctor sported now. “I’m spending Shabbos with a friend, so I’ll see you on Sunday, then?” </p><p>The redhead nodded tightly, taking a deep breath and giving his most charming grin, although it certainly betrayed how dazed he felt by the time he managed words, “I’m looking forward to it, too, angel.” </p><p>“I’m so glad to hear it,” Aziraphale sighed, shoulders releasing the very trace amounts of tension that possibly could have been perceived. He leveraged Crowley with a look so fond the redhead wondered if he thought he hung the stars, before offering the warmest, “Goodnight, my dear,” imaginable and turning to take his leave.</p><p>Crowley wasn’t sure how long he stood in the hallway, his brain replaying the exchange over and over again. Then he thought over the texts. Truly, the obvious affection had been just as present as he had suspected. Part of him kicked himself at being so thick; Aziraphale had all but told him repeatedly how dearly he held him in his heart. The other part couldn’t help but defend his ignorance. He was, after all, the undeserving son of a bitch. The one that Aziraphale was thinking about. The one Aziraphale <em> cared </em>about. </p><p>A smile slowly cracked across the redhead features, and he spun in place, hands rushing to his face. This couldn’t be real. If it was a dream, it was a cruel one. Dr. Aziraphale Fell <em> fancied </em> him. Had <em> asked him out. </em>Had thought about him and planned a date cater-made for his happiness. Visions of cuddling close under a blanket and sipping cocoa and watching his favorite films with one of his favorite people filled his mind, and his heart overflowed with joy with it. </p><p>Before he could quite control himself, he was running out the automatic doors, spinning a stranger in the air and setting them down. He leapt into the streets without a care in the world for oncoming traffic.</p><p>“He asked me out! Holy fuck!!! Yes! Hell’s fucking bells! Can I get a wahoo?!” he shouted, pumping his fists as he skipped through the road. </p><p>A series of loud honks sounded in response, alongside an angry, “get the fuck out the street, you absolute wanker!” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Crowley face-planted on the bed with a loud groan. Nearly half his wardrobe was laid out upon it alongside a very bored Bealz, currently playing horror games on their switch. The redhead turned his face toward them, irritated that they weren’t attentive to his plight. </p><p>“I only have thirty minutes until I need to go and still nothing to wear,” he whined. </p><p>“Go naked, sure he’d appreciate the view,” Bealz suggested with the slightest trace of a grin on their mouth. </p><p>“How helpful,” Crowley drawled, flopping onto his back. </p><p>“You’re acting like you’ve never been on a date before. You’re just going to the park. Pick something sleek but understated. It’s not like you’re not handsome enough as is. You don’t need anything flashy.”</p><p>He turned his head to look at them, still immersed in their game. </p><p>“He’s only ever seen me look like a punk, a slut, or a nurse. This is important.”</p><p>“Well that checks out fine; you’re all those things.”</p><p><em> “C’monnnnn </em> it’ll make me less nervous! You pick! Please? You’re the fashionista, after all.” </p><p>They shot him an amused look. “Satan. You’re such a baby. You really need help picking out clothes? Toddlers can do it.” </p><p>“Well according to you, I’m not a toddler, I’m a baby.”</p><p>Crowley couldn’t help but grin at Bealz’ irritation, but felt the joy of accomplishment when they paused their game and stood to survey the piles of clothing. They rifled through them for a moment, making certain noises of assent or disagreement before shifting to dig through their partner’s drawers and closet. A moment later the redhead was smothered with a stack of fabric deposited unceremoniously over his face. He pulled them off, sitting up to find Bealz had picked a grey long-sleeved henley, dark-wash jeans, a red cashmere scarf, and a black, slim-fit double-breasted pea coat. He figured he could manage to pick his own shoes and perused the shelves of his walk-in closet before snatching up the laced Louboutin ankle boots that Bea had gotten him for Christmas the year before. </p><p>He admired himself in the mirror after assembling the whole ensemble, taking a moment to make sure the product in his hair was making it lay just right before turning to Bea with a grin. </p><p>“Look like a proper snack, eh?” </p><p>Bealz barely spared a glance over at him and flashed a wicked grin back down at their game. “More like a three-course meal. Dinner at the Ritz has nothing on you, love.”</p><p>Crowley preened in the mirror with a wide smile, popping his coat collar just so before making for the door. </p><p>“Right then, I’m off.” </p><p>“You got this,” Bealz shouted after him. </p><p>“Hell yeah I do!” he shouted back, not truly feeling the confidence but finding it best to live by the ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ methodology. </p><p>He snatched the prepared basket off the counter. After learning the films started at 6 PM, he knew that eating at 4:30 would have Aziraphale antsy and hungry again before the evening was over. Thus, he’d insisted on packing them a picnic in place of dinner, and he was incredibly eager to see what the doctor might think of his cooking. </p><p>The Tube wasn’t terribly crowded. Crowley had opted for it, not wishing to be rendered late by the unpredictable quest to find a place to park. He drew his jacket tighter over his chest; it was a cold day for early October, and the setting sun wasn’t helping. The thought of snuggling up next to a warm, soft angel made Crowley’s cold-prone body run a little hotter. </p><p>He looked over the amphitheatre, seeking out a good spot that hadn’t been claimed already. Golden eyes landed on a head of white-blonde curls, and Crowley smiled. Just like Aziraphale to show up early, if only to get good seats. They were close enough to see well but far enough out that they’d have a bit of privacy and not bother others too much by chatting (or snogging, if Crowley was lucky). </p><p>The doctor was heavily immersed in a thick book that Crowley couldn’t quite see the title of. He’d come prepared as well, a shoulder bag to his side and a blanket beneath them for the pair to sit on. Another was folded to his side, presumably to be pulled over their laps. It made the redhead’s heart beat a little louder, and he suddenly recalled sitting in the back of a dark cab, snuggled up to the doctor’s side as his neck was rubbed and his brain entered a place that very much likened paradise. </p><p>Aziraphale was wearing a cream frock coat over a light blue waistcoat. Both colors were united in a tartan bow tie. It should have been ridiculous, how proper and old fashioned he looked, but it just made Crowley’s stomach flutter and his head go dizzy and static. Some deeply buried part of him wanted to crawl into his lap. He managed to suppress the impulse without thinking too heavily on it. </p><p>The redhead approached quietly, sneaking up from behind and leaning over his shoulder, free hand lodged deep in his pea coat pocket. </p><p>“Pardon, this seat taken?” </p><p>He gave a cheeky grin as Aziraphale glanced sternly up at him, clearly prepared to inform him that it very much was, but upon identifying the intruder, the blonde’s face lit up with such genuine joy that Crowley’s expression lost its audacious edge, turning soft and eager almost immediately. </p><p>“Crowley! You’re early!” he cheered as if Crowley had accomplished some praise-worthy feat instead of simply showing up somewhere he promised to be. </p><p>The nurse hopped off the ledge and took a seat to the left of Aziraphale, near enough that their knees were only an inch or so apart. His heart fluttered at the fact that he managed to please the doctor, and his expression betrayed the same sentiment as he flashed a delighted little grin. The picnic basket was carefully deposited behind them. </p><p>“Yeeeah, well. I was hoping to scare off any punks that thought of hogging the good seats, but I suppose I’ll allow you to stay.” </p><p>Aziraphale raised his eyebrows and grinned. “How kind of you.” </p><p>“Sure, sure. Just don’t go ‘round tellin’ anyone. I’d hate them to think they’ll get the same treatment.” </p><p>“Oh?” The blonde gave a smile that reminded Crowley how close they were, that he could lean in and press their mouths together should he like. “Implying I get special treatment?”</p><p>“Well. Would have thought that’s obvious by now, angel,” Crowley muttered, although his flirtation was undercut by a thick undercurrent of anxious excitement. </p><p>He might have spared some frustration that his brain became utterly useless around Aziraphale, that his infamous flash-bastard, smooth-criminal persona burst into smithereens, but he was very familiar with the helplessness after all their time together. The blonde stripped him down to the truth that lay beneath the facade, and while it was jarring and uncomfortably vulnerable at times, Crowley couldn’t complain when Aziraphale would follow it up by making him feel so remarkably special for what was found.</p><p>It came with caveats, of course. The foremost being that Crowley couldn’t mask the butterflies or filter the remarkably sappy sentiments that spun around with them. It felt all too much like anxiety. Just when the panic that he’d say something irredeemably stupid or fuck this all up before it started reached a fever-pitch, a soft tartan blanket was being spread over his lap and tucked under his farthest leg, and Aziraphale turned to dig through his bag. </p><p>“It is a bit nippy, isn’t it? Would you prefer mulled apple juice or cocoa?” </p><p>Crowley realized he’d been shivering, but his heart glowed with warmth at the doctor’s coddling. Both. He’d brought <em> both </em> in case Crowley preferred one over the other. He cared about Crowley’s preferences. Didn’t he know the nurse would take anything he offered? Oh, but again, he remembered he was the one Aziraphale had been thinking of. Just a few days ago, he’d been prepared to take those scraps. He didn’t need to settle for that now. Aziraphale wanted to give him <em> more </em>than that. </p><p>“Juice sounds fantastic, thanks.”</p><p>He rubbed his thin hands together as Aziraphale poured him a helping. </p><p>He took the mug with grateful hands, releasing a content sigh as he felt it heat his fingers. A small sip revealed Aziraphale must have made it himself at home, as it was far too complex and delicious to be anything store-bought. The idea of the doctor paying such attention to detail for <em> him </em>nearly made him swoon.</p><p>“Y’know what would have been great with this?” he thought, kicking himself for not bringing any alcohol with the picnic. </p><p>As if on cue, Aziraphale went back to sifting through his things, removing a small bottle of whiskey and placing it between their hips. Crowley stared down at it, looking so surprised the blonde laughed at his expression. </p><p>“Again with the clairvoyance!” Crowley exclaimed, very much enjoying his angel’s cheeky grin, “I’d better be right in saying you have better taste than to dump this in the cocoa, too?” </p><p>Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “Heavens, no! What do you take me for? There’s peppermint schnapps for that.” </p><p>A very warm sensation of fondness spread through Crowley’s chest, and he couldn’t help but fall victim to it, practically melting in place. </p><p>“Yes! Well. I won’t be outdone, angel,” he remembered suddenly, twisting to rifle through the picnic basket and pulling out several different tupperware containers. They were tidily set out behind where they were seated. Not between them. He wasn’t about to be denied cuddles by some finger-sandwiches. </p><p>“Is that right?” Aziraphale hummed with an amused grin. </p><p>“It’s exactly right- here, try these,” he said, feigning confidence the best he could as he pressed an opened container of small pies into Aziraphale’s hands. He hoped the doctor wouldn’t inquire too much about them before trying, as Crowley would start with listing the sausage, apricot, apple, piccalilli, rosemary, and countless other ingredients and find himself ranting about the whole two-hour process of making them. He’d spent countless more making the rest of the snacks. The whole day had been dedicated to it, really. </p><p>And the moment Aziraphale bit into the pie and released that <em> intoxicating </em> noise of pleasure, Crowley knew every minute of it had been worthwhile. He found himself overcome with the desire to spend many more hours making him all the foods he could dream of. He’d be more than happy to spend the rest of his life locked in the doctor’s kitchen if it meant getting such a precious reward. If it meant getting an electric thrill shot up his spine and adrenaline pumping through his veins at the fact that he did something <em> good. </em> That he <em> was </em>good. </p><p>“My dear, these are positively sinful. You must tell me where you got them,” Aziraphale practically moaned after finishing the small pie. </p><p>“Oh, well that might be hard to do,” Crowley blushed, but a proud, cheeky grin spread on his face and he squirmed in his seat, eager for the praise he knew he’d soon be given. He cocked his head. “-seeing as I made them.”</p><p>The blonde’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave Crowley a sweet look absolutely dripping with affection. Crowley couldn’t help but feel that warmth pulse through his chest again. “Did you really? Honestly, darling, you’re an absolute treasure. Is there anything you can’t do?” </p><p>
  <em> Darling </em>
</p><p>Crowley wanted to bury his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder. To hum gleefully and ask for more. Instead he preened as he felt the tips of his ears go hot and flashed a wide smile.</p><p>“Well, I figured we’d be out here a while, so I made a few things- Gruyere, onion, and marmite muffins, honeyed fig and curd cheese tarts, jam jar salads, a couple different desserts… um… blimey, sounds excessive when I say it all out loud.” He sounded a nervous laugh. </p><p>Aziraphale tilted his head at him, giving him a soft, appraising look. “That’s quite a bit of work. I hope you didn’t do as much out of some sort of sense of duty.” </p><p>Crowley felt caught. Of course. Leave it to the angel to hound out his insecurities. Of course there was a sense of duty. Aziraphale was committing to sit about for six hours doing nothing but watching films he would likely dislike with a companion he would no doubt tire of quickly. Crowley didn’t want this first date to be their last. He didn’t want the doctor to be so bored he’d send him away. Crowley could be good. He could do good things. Make good things. If they were good enough, maybe the angel would see as much and choose to keep Crowley around. </p><p>“Uhm,” he swallowed thickly, shaking his head and spitting out something close enough to a truth, “No! I like cooking- as a hobby I mean. Figured out as much years ago. It helps with the anxiety. You should see my kitchen on the days before the A&amp;E gets state evaluations. Bake enough to feed a bloody village.”</p><p>“Oh dear, I hope I haven't made you anxious?” Aziraphale asked, looking something close to self-punishing. </p><p>Crowley rushed to assuage him, not noting that in doing so, he was spilling one of his most vulnerable secrets, one he typically would wait for months into a relationship before disclosing, “Oh, no! Don’t think that! I have an anxiety disorder, but it’s not that I was <em> anxious </em> about today- I was… was <em> excited. </em>Sometimes my chemicals confuse the two and- cooking. Yeah.” </p><p>He felt a bit stupid after finishing, but strangely the rush of anxiety he expected to whoosh in and soil the current happiness of the situation didn’t come. He looked down and realized Aziraphale had captured a hand in his own and was rubbing soothing circles in that magic spot. </p><p>“I’m so glad you have coping mechanisms sorted out, dear. Forgive me if I’m a bit indulgent in saying I certainly don’t mind how delicious the products of them are. We’ll be seeing you on Great British Bake Off, soon enough.” </p><p>Oh. Oh that wasn’t at all the judgement Crowley was expecting, and he felt quite silly for expecting anything other than acceptance to begin with. Aziraphale was so gentle. Not dismissive at all while simultaneously drawing no further attention to it than if Crowley had mentioned he woke up with a stiff neck some mornings. </p><p>Crowley barked a laugh, fixing Aziraphale with a painfully besotted gaze, “Can you imagine? With my intensity? Poor sods would have no idea what hit ‘em.”</p><p>It was dark now. The sun had set some minutes ago, and the projector turned on, casting light on the large screen arranged over the stage. Sunglasses were quickly pocketed. Crowley wondered if Aziraphale would let him get even closer than he had that one night at Rocky Horror, and he tested his luck by scooting so they were pressed together hip-to-knee. The angel was remarkably warm and didn’t show the slightest indication of discomfort, instead offering a smile even warmer than the arm he wrapped around Crowley’s waist to pull him close. The gesture sent fireworks rocketing out of Crowley’s heart and lit up his chest with a multitude of colored explosions in every direction. </p><p>The redhead didn’t bother to contain his elatedness upon discovering the film night would be kicked off with Die Hard, greedily sipping at his mulled apple juice with his eyes locked on the screen. Crowley was absolved in the classic. He shifted between sitting forward, chin in his hands, eagerly soaking in the plot, to leaning back on his palms and chatting with his date. Aziraphale had never seen the movie, and he seemed dead set on drawing Crowley’s attention to its many plot holes.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t he think to take his shoes?”, “If he could control the elevator, why wouldn’t he go down to the first floor?”, “Whatever happened to the limo driver?”, “Why do the villains only know 4 German words?”, and “If he was amenable to using proper code references instead of incessant cursing, they’d be far more likely to believe he was a policeman,” were just a few of the comments to earn Crowley’s snickers and grins. He was far too dedicated to defending the film that he knew was badly written and speckled with cheesy tropes, but he’d fight for it until his dying breath. Only when Aziraphale’s poker face gave and a wide, amused grin resided there instead did Crowley realize he was being goaded, and the doctor was clearly enjoying getting him riled. </p><p>Aziraphale fell quiet after that unless posing a question about what in particular was going on in the plot, or to pitch theories far too clever for the writing. Occasionally Crowley would turn back to throw an ecstatic grin at his companion, only to find Aziraphale was already looking back at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world. A few times he would glance over his shoulder to find the angel looking at the screen with a bemused expression that drew out hearty laughter every time. Crowley was torn between immersion in the movie and conversation with his date, and couldn’t help but join about forty other members of the crowd in shouting “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!” along with the protagonist. Near the end of the film, he and Aziraphale agreed that there was far more romantic tension between John McClane and Al Powell than there was between McClane and his wife.</p><p>The credits rolled, and Crowley had just finished off his second cup of spiked juice, throwing a grin over at Aziraphale. </p><p>“So? What did you think?”</p><p>Aziraphale gave several rapid blinks at the screen, then turned to Crowley, face slowly morphing into the sweetest, most genuine smile the nurse had ever seen. </p><p>“That was terrible.” </p><p>Crowley descended into surprised laughter, clutching Aziraphale’s arm, and soon found himself smiling hard against the blonde’s mouth. It was a sweet kiss, nearly chaste but not quite- a slow, gentle, adoring thing, as if he was something precious that the doctor feared breaking. After a time, they parted, noses still nuzzled against one another, and Crowley rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s, grinning wildly. </p><p>“What, you mean you weren’t blown away by those <em> remarkable </em>special effects?”</p><p>“Terribly gauche.” </p><p>Another kiss. Aziraphale’s hand was cradling Crowley’s jaw now, and were the redhead in a place to manage competent thought, he might worry how the doctor would certainly feel the racing thrum of his pulse. </p><p>“And that costuming, you have to appreciate that,” Crowley muttered against a mouth now tasting of honeyed figs. </p><p>“The lack thereof, I’m sure you mean? By the end of the film he was practically nude.” </p><p>Crowley laughed again, diving back in. He silently pleaded for a kiss with a bit more tongue, and Aziraphale seemed keen on giving it to him. Oh, but he did always seem to know what Crowley needed. Even better, he seemed to want to satiate those needs. He bullied the nurse’s tongue with his own in the best possible way, biting and sucking on his bottom lip and giving gentle, pleased smiles when Crowley would pull away and deliver tiny, devilish nips to his own. </p><p>Then the redhead felt a hand splay out on his lower back, the strong arm attached to it pulling him in close, and a flood of memories came crashing back. He froze stock-still, and Aziraphale pulled back, concerned blue eyes scanning over Crowley’s puzzled face as if trying to understand the sudden shift. </p><p>Crowley blinked, feeling his face heat.</p><p>“Did we snog in my hallway?” </p><p>Aziraphale’s brows raised, and a slow grin made its way to his face.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“I tried to invite you in.”</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>Crowley’s eyes pivoted around as he sorted the memories. He felt dizzy now from all the blood rushing to his face, and his gaze locked, petrified, into Aziraphale’s too-calm eyes. His voice was barely above a mortified whisper, <em> “I called you a sexy librarian.”  </em></p><p>Aziraphale’s grin twisted into something much more wicked, “If you’d like to paraphrase, yes. Although personally I feel the original sentiment was <em> much </em>more interesting.” </p><p>The nurse delivered a blank stare before slowly setting down his mug, removing the blanket, and feigning an intent to walk past Aziraphale. </p><p>“Might I inquire where you’re off to, darling?” </p><p>There was that word again, and the redhead nearly tripped over his own feet.</p><p>“Thought I might take a stroll into oncoming traffic,” Crowley offered conversationally. </p><p>Aziraphale laughed, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down as if it took no effort at all. That’s right- he was strong, wasn’t he? Strong enough to carry the slender figure down a hallway like it was nothing. Crowley landed mostly back in his former seat with his legs splayed over the doctor’s thighs. His hands slapped over his face, and he groaned into his palms, resting his head in the inviting crook of neck before him. The flesh on Aziraphale’s shoulder covering the muscle he knew was there was just as soft as he’d imagined. A gentle hand soothed over the back of his hair, gently massaging those points at the base of his skull that turned his brain to mush. The other smoothed over the outside of his thigh, and Crowley very much wished those hands would never leave his body again.</p><p>It relaxed him so much that he almost missed the soothing voice chuckle, “Now, there’s really no need for the dramatics.” </p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>“There is, too! You said nothing happened!” Crowley attempted to deliver the accusing whine, but in light of his relaxation, it sounded more like a mumbled string of sighs. It didn’t help his case in pretending to be wronged when he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and nuzzled under his jaw, letting the smell of vanilla, almond, bergamot, and jasmine envelope him. The doctor made absolutely no indication of being opposed to the affections, which brought Crowley further peace. He’d certainly had past romantic partners who thought him far too clingy.</p><p>“That’s not what I said at all. I believe what I said was that you did nothing unwelcome,” Aziraphale hummed matter-of-factly, kissing the side of Crowley’s head. </p><p>Crowley nearly asked why, if it was unwelcome, Aziraphale hadn’t taken him up on the offer to come inside. Then he remembered, and let out an incoherent whine.</p><p>
  <em> When I have you for the first time, you’ll want to remember it.  </em>
</p><p>A vicious shudder worked up Crowley’s spine, and he wasn’t quite sure how to exist in this place between complete relaxation and wishing to combust. A barrage of other memories came with the words. Promises of punishments and rewards. Rules placed for his well-being and happiness. Had he meant it? Had it just been drunken rambling? Crowley desperately hoped it hadn’t. He had a feeling he would do absolutely anything Aziraphale asked if it meant pleasing him, even if it was as simple as taking a shower and drinking water before bed. If it meant gentle, soft affections, being overpowered by that commanding energy, and feeling like he’d done something good and right. If it meant having his life under some semblance of control and trusting Aziraphale to be the one dictating that control. </p><p>Just when he was worried he would drown in the recollections, the next movie was put on. Another kiss was pressed to his head, followed by a soft, firm voice, “Enough of that, darling. It’s James Bond on next, isn’t that your favorite?” </p><p>Crowley nodded sheepishly. Aziraphale pushed him upright- but not away, the redhead noted as he was gently bullied back under the blanket. He pulled his legs up to cross them, right leg nestled comfortably over a plush thigh, and wrapped his arms around the angel’s elbow. Aziraphale rested a palm on Crowley’s knee, fingers occasionally brushing softly over the fabric there. Golden eyes occasionally flicked to his face to ensure the proximity was still welcome. He never found any indication that it wasn’t thoroughly enjoyed.</p><p>Soon Crowley found himself engaging in playful teasing banter over the same films he adored. That was the appeal of them, he figured. They were silly action fantasies, and he loved every bit of it. There was no shortage of things to talk about, especially when the doctor was so dead set on a viewpoint of practicality. The pair shared more snacks, eventually deciding to switch drinks. Crowley found that the tipsier he became, the more he enjoyed the combination of cocoa and peppermint flavors. The steadily increasing kisses they shared became only sweeter in taste. His reactions to the praise over his cooking and cleverness and thoughtfulness were becoming less shy modesty and more proud preening, which only served to please the doctor further. </p><p>James Bond: Goldfinger ended far too fast. Then Firewalker. Then Dirty Harry. Then it was over, and Crowley felt cheated despite the nearly six hours of patting Aziraphale’s knee excitedly and pointing during his favorite scenes. Of laughing so hard his stomach hurt and of lazy snogging that Aziraphale would initiate every time Crowley smiled so happily at him. He wanted more of all of it. More of Aziraphale. </p><p>Yet here they were packing up, strolling all too slowly towards the front of the park with fingers laced together. If they got turned around a suspicious amount of times, well- neither of them were about to comment on it. Crowley played a little game of swerving side to side, testing to see if Aziraphale might suck his teeth and chide him, but his angel was patient as ever, occasionally giving a mischievous little tug that had the slender figure bumping back into his side and grinning wildly. </p><p>“I’m sorry you had to sit through them,” the redhead found himself saying after a time. </p><p>Aziraphale nearly frowned, but seemed to register the anxiety on Crowley’s face and instead opted to give a small shake of his head. “I was very happy to. I had a lovely time.” </p><p>Crowley felt a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips, and he cocked his head. “A lovely time watching terrible films? How does that figure out.” </p><p>The blonde slowed, turning to him and looking him straight in the eye in that way that made Crowley’s heart jump. A hand tucked against his waist. “Do you know, Crowley, you have this way of turning objectively terrible things into remarkably enjoyable experiences. I find myself growing quite fond of that trait.” </p><p>Heat rushed to the redhead’s face, but he didn’t break eye contact, instead ducking his chin slightly and looking warmly into those soft blue eyes. So powerful. Always gentle. They walked on again, this time with their arms wrapped around one another’s backs. Crowley wished Aziraphale’s jacket weren’t in the way so he might slide a hand into his back pocket.</p><p>“Glad to be of service. To be fair, they weren’t <em>always </em>terrible. I remember when Die Hard first came out. Olivia- my case worker- she took me to see it. Of course I wasn’t <em>supposed </em>to, being ten and all, but bribing me with action blockbusters was the only way she could get me to behave. It was probably the coolest thing in the world. Incompetence and badassery were something of a package deal at the time. Anyway, if you tried to tell me <em>then </em>that it was terrible- let’s just say that’s not an argument you would win.” </p><p>“I doubt I would have dared to try,” Aziraphale ceded with a soft chuckle, as if he could imagine exactly how stubborn a ten-year-old Crowley could be. They walked in comfortable silence for a moment, and when his voice came back, it was softer than before, “You were close? With Olivia?” </p><p>Crowley hesitated. He glanced over at Aziraphale, and oh, he looked so <em> happy </em>that he was opening up. So hopeful that Crowley would trust him. Something deep inside said Aziraphale wouldn’t ask if it was dangerous to answer.</p><p>“Yes. She was the only adult who-” Too much, he thought. Too vulnerable. “Well, she was always there. My case got handed around a few times, but once she got it, she didn’t let it go. I think I was about nine at the time. When I was fourteen she moved to London. A year later I was relocated here, too. I didn’t appreciate it then, but now that I’m older, I can’t imagine how many hoops she had to jump through to make that happen. We still talk, sometimes. She retired somewhere out in your direction.” </p><p>He shrugged, blinking out of the memory and flashing a toothy grin, “They’re not supposed to have favorites, but <em> obviously </em>she was soft for my non-conformist philosophy.” </p><p>Aziraphale laughed, nodding in agreement. “Obviously. I’d imagine you were quite the cute wee anarchist. Difficult to resist enabling. I’m sure you got spray paint and duct tape in your stocking for christmas.”</p><p>The nurse threw his head back to bark out a laugh, in turn, “Oh yes, can see it now. Little ten-year-old Anthony in his scratchy winter jumper, tagging government buildings ‘Down with the Dibbles’. Never too young to raise awareness about systematically oppressive power structures.”</p><p>“No, indeed. How heartwarming to imagine.”</p><p>“I’ll have to find you pictures,” Crowley teased.</p><p>“I daresay you will.”</p><p>Crowley couldn’t help but look at him in wonder. How did he do it? How did he ease him open so pliantly and keep him calm as he examined all the wounds and tended to them? Anyone else and the redhead would be baring his teeth and threatening to bite. </p><p>The nurse cleared his throat.</p><p>“Well, you know I’d like to think we could have just as enjoyable a time <em> without </em> terrible things, if you could imagine,” he grinned, looking up to gaze at the night sky and playfully attempting to stagger them again. Aziraphale let him get away with it a bit, this time. It was unfortunately cloudy. A shame. He loved the stars. He wondered if they could be seen better in Brighton. He wondered if Aziraphale would keep him around. He wondered if he might take him to the South Downs so he could lean their heads together and point out all the constellations. “Maybe you can let me plan for next time.”</p><p>A sudden weight dropped in his stomach when he registered his own words, and he threw a panicked look at Aziraphale, who was calmly gazing skyward just as Crowley had been a moment earlier.</p><p>“That is- I mean I shouldn’t have assumed-,” he sighed, cursing the basket in his hand that kept him from acting busy somehow. “I just mean, if you <em> want </em>a next time.” </p><p>Aziraphale looked surprised, then shifted into that expression that he always wore when teasing Crowley. He seemed to think better of it, offering an incredibly fond smile instead. </p><p>“My dear, I would like nothing more than a next time.” </p><p>“Oh,” Crowley sounded the involuntary sigh, feeling his face heat against the cold night air and smiling at Aziraphale with an affection too overwhelming to keep to himself. Truly, he was wrapped around the doctor’s finger, and he was far too comfortable there to mind. Aziraphale wouldn’t hurt him. </p><p>He transitioned into a cheeky grin and shrugged a shoulder in a coy manner, “I mean- duh, of course you would.”</p><p>“Naturally,” Aziraphale bantered back with an expression that wrestled between pride and flirtation, “I struggle to imagine a soul who wouldn’t desire as much once acquainted the slightest with your charms” </p><p>They were nearing the gate now, and Crowley decided to perceive it as an opportunity rather than an ending. He took his arm away only to playfully tug at Aziraphale’s jacket, pulling him to the side of the walkway and into his own space, tilting his head down just the couple inches he needed to, and delivering the most indulgent, enticing kiss he could manage. It seemed to prove effective, and he felt a strong hand at the small of his back, pulling them flush together. He breathed a soft, airy thing that nearly likened a moan and delighted when it resulted in that hand sliding lower, giving his arse a possessive squeeze. Crowley imagined what he could do with that strength- what it would feel like for those arms to pin him down on a bed, or lift him against a wall. The redhead barely pulled away, just enough to bite his lip and lodge the most sultry look he could manage into those hungry blue eyes. “The night’s young enough. I’d be very happy to acquaint you much better with my charms.” </p><p>Aziraphale dove in, stealing the plush lower lip out from Crowley’s teeth and between his own, sucking it in a way that pulled another slight moan from the redhead. He pulled away, breathing a bit heavier, and tipped his forehead against Crowley’s again, sounding a deep, low laugh that rumbled against the slender chest in the most thrilling way. Endorphins were pumping fast through the taller figure, now. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a wicked little tempter?” </p><p>“Once or twice,” Crowley hummed, indulgently washing his hand over Aziraphale’s shoulders and placing a couple open mouthed kisses along his jaw. </p><p>The blonde closed his eyes and took a deep breath, gears clearly turning, before gently guiding Crowley away for the redhead to see something much more chaste and soft than he would have liked, if not a bit remorseful.</p><p>“I think it’s best if we say goodnight here, darling.” </p><p>Crowley tried not to pout. Part of him had anticipated this possibility, even in light of the evening having gone wonderfully; Aziraphale was classy. The kind of person who would wait three months to form a friendship before asking him out. The kind of person who would likely want to court him properly before jumping into bed. The kind of person that probably waited until the third date. </p><p>Honestly, Crowley couldn’t be too upset. Instead he found himself very much the opposite. He was elated. Aziraphale <em> liked </em>him. Respected him. Crowley wasn’t sure he’d ever had someone take interest in him in such a way. </p><p>“I suppose,” he heaved a put-upon huff, but grinned playfully, “Would you think me too eager if I planned ‘next time’ for Wednesday?” </p><p>Aziraphale smiled and actually kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose. It was such an intimately affectionate little thing that the cage of Crowley’s chest felt torn open to accommodate the hundreds of butterflies that burst out of it. Liquid amber eyes were wide and soft as they gazed into blue, and a content sigh escaped the blonde as he gazed back. “No more eager than I find myself, I confess.” </p><p>Oh and that earned the brightest smile from Crowley. Aziraphale’s fingers wound through his own spindly set, and he was tugged forward so softly it was more of a suggestion than a command. Still, Crowley would obey. So long as it was Aziraphale that was asking. He fell into a kiss that he would qualify as the most precious he’d ever received, yet he couldn’t, as for the duration of the night, Aziraphale had treated him as if he was something deserving of the utmost care and reverence. As if he was an ancient book with delicate pages, a fragile, cracked spine, and the most beautiful, coveted content. In that moment he was positive that he’d never tire of such treatment, and indeed it was ruining him to anything- anyone else. He didn’t need to experience it to know that even if the doctor decided to handle him roughly, the movements would be just as precise and careful. He sighed into the sensation of a smooth tongue gliding over his lower lip, just barely sucking at Aziraphale’s in turn before they parted again. </p><p>The blonde was the first to take a reluctant step back, and he lifted Crowley’s hand, brushing his lips against his knuckles just like he had on that night so long ago.  Blue eyes fixed on Crowley’s face, filled with affection so bright it was nearly blinding as their fingertips slipped apart.</p><p>“Goodnight, Anthony.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Aziraphale.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me @ Myself: Don't write a GBBO AU don't write a GBBO AU don't write a-</p><p>I hope you guys liked this chapter! It was really lovely to write some (sober) affections between these two cuties. I like to imagine they're (finally) on the same page now that Crowley remembers everything! Let's see where things go~ Thanks to my dearest @CapuccinoStarlight for watching Die Hard with me for research, even if we laughed through the whole thing. </p><p>This Fourth of July, please remember Black Lives Matter, ACAB, and American government is a terrifying, corrupt nightmare.</p><p>Wow I got SO many comments on the last chapter! Thank you guys SO MUCH for the support, it really helps motivate me!</p><p>Edit: Reminder to check out Free's twitter and tumblr (links in the intro notes) if you like the artwork! I can't describe how perfectly it captures what I had imagined the characters to look like. Their expressions are spot on. Their dynamic perfect. *Tom Haverford voice* "I've stared at this for four hours"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From Charming Little Devil October 5 8:43 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Hullo angel </b>
</p><p>I fear I’m experiencing deja vu; didn’t I see you only a moment ago?</p><p>
  <b>Oh fuck. It’s my Tethered. Comin 2 discorporate me n take my place. Dun believe anything he says! </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Did u just use a fcking semicolon in a text</b>
</p><p>I did.</p><p>Tethered? Something tells me that’s a pop culture reference. </p><p>
  <b>U got me. Clever, u </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Uh, like The Double by Frodo Dosteaoeioiovsky, if google is 2 b trusted?</b>
</p><p>Is that his name? My, I’ve been saying it wrong all this time.</p><p>
  <b>Might as well b 2 the dyslexic eye lol </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Anyway, had 2 run, Bea threatened 2 leave me</b>
</p><p>Are the two of you flatmates?</p><p>
  <b>Nah, same building tho </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Had questions bout Wenesday, determined not 2 fuck it up</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Wednesday*</b>
</p><p>Dear, we could have afternoon tea in Jack Cade’s cavern, and as far as I’m concerned we’d still have a lovely time. </p><p>
  <b>How’d u kno that’s wat I had planned? </b>
</p><p>Clairvoyant, according to you. </p><p>What questions did you have for me, darling?</p><p>
  <b>O right. On a scale of 1-10 how much London tourism have u partaken in?</b>
</p><p>Where might a trip to The Tower of London during primary school land me?</p><p>
  <b>Negativ 3</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Question 2- how adverse r u 2 tourist-y things?</b>
</p><p>That would depend. Is my hypothetical tour guide one Anthony J. Crowley? </p><p>
  <b>Naturally ;)</b>
</p><p>Then I should think I’m not at all opposed. </p><p>By the by, what does the ‘J’ stand for? May I ask?</p><p>
  <b>U can ask me anything, angel. Rly just a J tho</b>
</p><p>That seems rather like avoiding the question.</p><p>
  <b>Psh, excus u! It’s answerin it!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Right last Q, French or Italian? </b>
</p><p>Now, that’s cruel!</p><p>
  <b>Lol right, like pickin between ur children, is it? Gud enough, then. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>See u at St James @ noon Wednesday?</b>
</p><p>You may safely count on it. </p><p><b>Cheers </b>😘</p><p>Goodnight, dear. ❤️</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When faced with the suggestion that their date might involve something along the lines of ‘tourism’, Aziraphale had imagined strolling around a museum with Crowley, hand in hand. Perhaps viewing national landmarks or enjoying a river cruise down the Thames. </p><p>What he hadn’t imagined was that Crowley might spend an entire night (if his persistent yawning was any indicator) tediously planning a literary walking tour of London to a myriad of fantastic book shops and landmarks straight out of his favorite author’s lives. Not the big, gaudy new ones, but hidden gems masked in back alleys. Old and loved and historic. He hadn’t imagined he might stand in Charles Dickens’ foyer, or get a brew at a pub frequented by George Orwell, George Bernard Shaw, Dylan Thomas, and Richard Attenborough. He hadn’t imagined the man he’d grown so fond of would tentatively tell him stories about the authors’ affiliations with each location. He hadn’t imagined the redhead would be content settling into a chair by the door at each little shop, playing games on his phone and occasionally nodding off (which Aziraphale quickly discovered was nothing short of the most precious thing he’d ever seen).  </p><p>The pair dined at a French restaurant that seemed far too fine to compliment a nurse’s salary, but Crowley was quick to snatch the bill and play keep-away. Aziraphale considered dropping his tone and insisting, knowing full well the redhead would turn to butter and surrender it on the spot, but then he slid his glasses down and did that puppy-dog-eyed <em> pouting </em> number and huffed, “but <em> I’m </em> the one who invited <em> you </em> out,” like the sly little devil he was and - well? What was Aziraphale? A monster? No one with a heart could argue with <em> that, </em>so the matter was rather settled. </p><p>They managed to depart hand-in-hand without any foliage taken hostage, this time around. They strolled about Southwark, though Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice their pace was slightly faster than earlier in the day. By the way Crowley kept looking at his watch, he could surmise that they had an appointment to keep. Just when Aziraphale was sure his date had to be out of surprises, they landed squarely in front of The Globe Theatre, where Crowley informed him they had tickets to Hamlet. Upon being informed that this was one of the doctor’s absolute favorites, the nurse relaxed considerably. The pleased praise that Aziraphale rained down on him was soaked up like a sponge, rewarded with charming smiles and coy, prideful banter. </p><p>The show was quite good- at least, if Crowley’s reactions were any indication. He found that, much like during their first date, it was impossible not to simply bask in Crowley’s enjoyment. It was difficult not to marvel at how beautiful he was when he was laughing, at the way the stars in his eyes released bright solar flares when displaying intrigue. At the sharp lines of his profile and the way his grin went lopsided when awaiting a punch line. Then there were those moments he would turn and meet Aziraphale’s gaze, searching for a reaction like an ecstatic child pointing at a miraculous act at a circus, and the doctor would feel his heart skip a beat. Oh, he was so genuine. Then there were the somber, serious moments. His gaze didn’t waver from the stage. He hung on every word in a way that had Aziraphale desperately envious of every soul on stage. He would lean forward, entranced in the performance before him, chin set on his palm, golden eyes rapt, moonlight shining down from overhead and flood lights illuminating him from below, and Aziraphale thought it a crime an artist wasn’t given a chance to capture the scene. </p><p>“Are you enjoying it at all?” Crowley pressed him upon one glance over his shoulder.</p><p>“Of course I am!” he answered, genuinely surprised at the suspicion, “Whatever would make you believe otherwise?” </p><p>“Weeeell,” the redhead began. The blonde watched, a small grin on his face and a brow raised in amusement as Crowley released a long, mysterious, stammering type noise to fill the time as he thought of an explanation, “You’re not… <em> reacting!”  </em></p><p>“Oh, well if that’s all you’d like,” Aziraphale teased, leaning forward in his seat and raising his voice, “Buck up, Hamlet!” </p><p>Crowley abruptly snorted, swatting at the blonde’s arm and shushing him through snickers. </p><p>“You’re a right bastard, you know that?” he hissed with a wild grin.</p><p>Aziraphale smirked in turn, “So you keep telling me.” </p><p>The play went on. Ophelia’s death hit hard. Crowley’s unique eyes went soft and wide, and the blonde waited with baited breath to see if his date might begin to cry. He did. Perhaps it was cruel, that he fell in love at first sight with the redhead’s tears, only he’d never seen any emotion more earnest in his life. It was a beautiful and open and honest display, and if the world only had a fraction of the compassion that Crowley displayed in these moments, it would be a paradise. Aziraphale longed to lean forward and kiss those sorrowful furrowed brows right where they wrinkled, to smooth them and catch the hot rolling tears. He realized after a foolishly long delay that he <em> could </em>touch Crowley. He reached around to plant a hand on his boney hip, sliding him closer on the bench with one easy pull. The redhead was startled at the action and flushed that handsome shade of red. He grimaced at Aziraphale, surely in a futile attempt to still his trembling lower lip, and tried a pitiful excuse of a glare upon realizing his vulnerability had full witness. </p><p>“Not a word,” he whimpered in warning, the attempt turned comical as his heart could practically be heard where it was stuck in his throat. </p><p>Aziraphale smiled, his own heart cracking open and oozing paralyzing warmth throughout his chest, rendering him absolutely helpless for this sweet man. He leaned in and kissed those pouting lips, raising a free hand to wipe a stray tear with his thumb. “I wouldn’t dare.” </p><p>The doctor paid mind to at least listen to the play, even if he resigned to enjoy a different view. From what he heard, the actors put on a rather impressive performance. He said as much, and Crowley agreed, cautiously maintaining a pout until he felt safe that Aziraphale wouldn’t bring up the matter and start teasing him. Of course, the doctor would never do such a thing. He very much hoped the redhead would trust him with tears in the future. </p><p>They walked with Crowley’s arm laced through Aziraphale’s, discussing the play and agreeing the actor of Claudius wasn’t quite up to par with the rest of the cast. The blonde was lacking any interest in the date’s ending, and he could surmise from Crowley’s uncharacteristically slow walking pace that the opinion was shared. </p><p>The redhead appeared nonplussed upon realizing that they were standing in front of his building. He turned back to Aziraphale, glasses long forgotten in his pocket, and smiled like the doctor had personally hung the moon and stars.</p><p>“You walked me home.” </p><p>“Well, I like to imagine I’m a gentleman,” Aziraphale defended himself. </p><p>Crowley gave a cheeky grin, pulling the blonde close by the lapels of his jacket, and gave him a chaste kiss; an appetizer, Aziraphale identified.</p><p>“It’s good to have aspirations,” he teased. </p><p>The doctor laughed, shaking his head and snaking his hands around the slender waist before him. “Now, I’m not sure I deserved that.”</p><p>“Of course you didn’t,” Crowley amended, gleeful grin calming into something more affectionate as he smoothed his hands over the broader figure’s chest, “You’re quite the gentleman. In fact you deserve much better.” </p><p>‘Better than me,’ had been the unmistakable meaning of that, however unintentionally it was communicated. Aziraphale could tell as much by the scant trace of self-depreciation in the voice. The way Crowley wouldn’t meet his eyeline. He gave the figure a squeeze, kissing the corner of his lips. </p><p>“Don’t be mistaken, I very much like your teasing. I find your audaciousness very appealing. I would say it’s what makes up your charm, but I fear that’d be unjust to your many wonderful traits.” </p><p>Crowley flushed pink under those many freckles and gave a shy grin, shaking his head and laughing softly, “speaking of things that aren’t deserved…” </p><p>“Quite right, darling,” Aziraphale hummed, kissing him slowly and deeply in a way that made the figure nearly go slack in his arms. He pulled away, only to plant a tidy row of kisses up that sharp jawline. When he leaned back to gaze into Crowley’s eyes he found golden galaxies, dazed and drifting. “It doesn’t hold a candle to the praise you’ve a right to, now does it?” </p><p>The redhead flushed darker, fidgeting with the sentiment he clearly enjoyed but didn’t feel he should accept. Instead of doing as much, he dove in greedily for another kiss, hands twisting in Aziraphale’s lapels to pull him in impossibly closer, that he might do wicked things with his tongue. One hand slid upwards, cupping Aziraphale’s face below the ear. Crowley pulled back the scantest amount, and the doctor felt him smiling against his lips. Blue eyes dove into the universe before them, hypnotized. </p><p>“You could come upstairs and amend that, if you’d like.” </p><p>Such a wicked thing. A tempter with undeniable talent. And how very enticing the temptation was. He longed to let Crowley guide him to his bed. He longed to lay him down and undress him and mark up every inch of freckled skin. To taste him. To hear him moan and cry out his name in every pitch until it was the only word of his vocabulary he could remember. To show him exactly how good he was. To bestow upon him the praise and affection and reward he deserved. </p><p><em> Not tonight, </em> he reminded himself, although he found it very enticing to pretend he didn’t hear, <em> too soon.  </em></p><p>“I’d love to, in fact,” he sighed, “but I fear I must be going.” </p><p>The pouting only lasted a moment before a devilish grin took its place on Crowley’s handsome features. He shrugged a shoulder and tilted his head coyly. “Can’t blame a bloke for trying, eh?” </p><p>“No, indeed,” Aziraphale hummed, running his fingers indulgently through the hair at the nape of Crowley’s neck and peppering a kiss on the tip of his nose, “I can’t thank you enough, Crowley, for today. I had the most wonderful time. Although I’m not sure I’m very pleased with you cheating yourself of sleep when we still could have had a perfect time otherwise.” </p><p>“Oh, but it was so worth it, angel! You were so happy with your nose in those old books. Guessing which booth Orwell would have sat at in the pub based on how the light came in the window. Besides, now you know the- the,” he stopped, laughing around a grin as he mocked a pompous air to say, “Antiquarian hotbeds of London.” </p><p>Aziraphale felt an immense fondness for the silly man before him, and couldn’t help but steal another kiss before speaking again. “And for that I am most grateful, my dear. Yet I can’t help but feel I quite unfairly neglected you.” </p><p>Another press of soft lips when he sensed Crowley was about to object. </p><p>“Perhaps, next time, we might venture to plan something more intimate? I’d very much like the opportunity for more conversation.” </p><p>The objections were gone in a flash and replaced with giddy preening. Whether Crowley was excited over the indication of another date, the desire for solitary discussion in an intimate setting, or both, Aziraphale couldn’t be sure. If pressed to guess, he would vote for the latter. </p><p>“Why don’t you come over to mine? I can cook for you- properly. Dinner. Saturday,” Crowley hummed, clearly trying not let on how eager he was that his date might say yes. </p><p>Aziraphale, as often as he smiled, still felt his cheeks burn from how much more he was smiling tonight. </p><p>“Aren’t you simply the dearest, most thoughtful boy? That sounds absolutely lovely, darling.”</p><p>A precious little whining noise was stifled in Crowley’s throat, and Aziraphale resisted the urge to suck a mark on the flesh over it and feel the vibrations beneath his lips. He truly did seem to love that pet name, and Aziraphale found he quite liked calling him by it. It made him able to pretend, just until it was true, that Crowley belonged to him. </p><p>Well aware that if he spent any more time entertaining <em> that </em>line of thinking, he would be dragging Crowley upstairs or accosting him in the lift, he pulled back. He wasn’t sure which one of them were more disappointed. </p><p>“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Crowley said, the starlight in his eyes shining so bright it was practically blinding. He grasped Aziraphale’s hand as it slid away from his waist, giving it a squeeze. The blonde felt his composure slip away. He was so impossibly weak for this sweet man. If Crowley changed his mind suddenly- if he asked him to stay- he wondered if he’d have the self-resolve to refuse him a second time. </p><p>He squeezed back with one hand, slipped the other to gently grasp Crowley’s jaw, pulling him forward to deliver one last, seething kiss to last them through the end of the week. Crowley sighed into it, running a hand through the back of Aziraphale’s hair and washing his other up and down the softly padded chest. He was just on the edge of moaning when the blonde pulled back, resting their foreheads together and reveling in that devilish, dazed grin. </p><p>“I look forward to it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale took a deep breath before stepping into the lift of Crowley’s building, throwing a gaze at the wall Crowley had once pressed him against before slithering over him like a succubus at work. He shook the thought from his head. He knew how to behave like an adult; dinner before dessert. </p><p>In truth, things were going better with the redhead than he ever could have hoped. Three dates in a single week was more than he possibly could have bargained for. Furthermore, Crowley was growing attached, all signs were pointing to deepening commitment and fondness. Aziraphale could hardly ask for more. </p><p>The lift doors began to close before a voice called out “Hold it!” and a shoe came flying through the opening, just barely missing Aziraphale. He jumped to the side, brows raised, and witnessed Beatrix Bealz stroll in like nothing had happened, arms laden with plastic bags stuffed with what appeared to be only cheap sugary snacks and crisps. They wore patched red harem pants slung low on their hips, a tight grey tank-top (apparently they hadn’t bothered with a bra), a massive black unzipped hoodie, and a single high-top sneaker. The outfit was a stark contrast to the high-fashion gothic ensembles he’d seen them in at work.</p><p>“Oh! There’s you, yeah? ‘Bout time. Tony’s been in a bloody tizzy all day. Might’ve had a stroke if you were any later,” they mused before kicking the button for the thirteenth floor with their socked foot and toeing their sneaker back on. Aziraphale considered mentioning he would have been happy to press it for them, but opted not to. Bit late for that, really.</p><p>“Is that so?” the blonde humored, only one brow raised. ‘Tony’, he mused. Only Dr. Bealz seemed to ever call Crowley that. He wondered how the pair had grown so familiar. </p><p>“Yeahhh, ‘course you’d never suspect. A hellion for detail, that one.”</p><p>“Seems a bit of a betrayal to bring it to my attention, no?”</p><p>They threw him an amused, toothy grin, cocking a dark eyebrow. Despite their laid back energy, their small stature, their undeniable eccentricity, there was an undeniable factor of intimidation about them. </p><p>“Cute when he’s flustered, ain’t he? Would hate to cheat you of it,” Bealz teased. </p><p>A bit of jealousy flared to life in Aziraphale. The possessive, protective animal in his chest snarled. <em> He </em> knew Crowley was cute, but surely that wasn’t for <em> others </em>to enjoy. </p><p><em> No, </em> the logical part of him corrected, <em> He’s allowed to have friends. That’s all they are.  </em></p><p>He tried to settle with that, but there was still that voice, the one that was prowling with doubts emplaced by past relationships that wounded him. A voice that said, <em> is it?  </em></p><p>“How kind of you,” he managed out, though he could tell by the tilt in Bealz’ head and the quirk of their eyebrow that they took interest in some aspect of the way he said it. Judging by their grin, they weren’t put off by it. </p><p>The lift dinged and the doors slid open on the ninth floor. He stepped out, turning to throw the surgeon a smile. If they were anything near as close to Crowley as he suspected, it wouldn’t hurt to be friendly. </p><p>“Do have a wonderful evening.” </p><p>Bealz gave a grin that surely could only be made by the devil themself before crooning as the doors slid shut, “Yeahhhhh, you too, mate. Have fun. Be safe. By the way- don’t worry ‘bout keepin’ it gentle, yeah? He likes a bit of bite.” </p><p>The flare of jealousy came back, and Aziraphale rushed to do damage control in his own mind.</p><p>
  <em> Don’t jump to assumptions. If they know we haven’t done anything yet, it’s likely Crowley talks with them about such matters.  </em>
</p><p>The idea of someone else touching Crowley came to mind, worsening the flame of rage.</p><p>“Now really, old chap, get yourself together,” he huffed to himself. Obviously, Crowley wasn’t inexperienced. He’d just need to give him such focused pleasure to make him forget that anyone else had ever been there first. </p><p>End of the hallway, he remembered. He’d recounted the events after Rocky Horror often enough to find the door in his sleep. Only this time, he could go in. His heart raced at the thought. Although laced with hungry desire, the excitement was founded in pure thoughts; he was going to get to see where Crowley lived. He was going to see the plants he devoted such loving care to. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he’d get to see it in action. He’d get to be let into the place Crowley felt the safest. Where he slept and ate. Where he laughed and cried over undeserving television programs and hosted game nights with friends. Aziraphale couldn’t help but be elated, because he was trusted to see it all. </p><p>He straightened his bow tie, giving a bit of an excited wiggle before knocking on the heavy door. He heard the clanging of a pot to the ground. Running water and sifting dishes. A muffled shout of “FUCK” followed shortly by a loud thump. </p><p>Then the door opened, and Crowley was leaning casually against the door frame, looking mildly frazzled and out of breath. A hand too-quickly mussed his previously immaculate, styled hair, and he attempted a grin. </p><p>“What’s this then? An angel at my door? Consider me blessed.” </p><p>Aziraphale tried not to laugh, instead grinning very fondly as he imagined how many alternative lines the redhead practiced whilst awaiting his arrival. </p><p>“Indeed,” he said warmly, inhaling the scent of something <em> divine </em>wafting into the hallway, “My goodness, Crowley. Whatever you’re up to cooking smells spectacular.” </p><p>“Yeah?” the nurse asked all-too-eagerly, perking up and preening before taking a few steps backwards and holding open the door, “I hope it tastes just as good; I’ve subjected friends to the failed trial runs twice this week. Come on in. It’ll just be a few more minutes.” </p><p>The alleged angel wasn’t about to argue. He inhaled deeply as he stepped inside, gazing about the flat. It was spacious, sleek, lovely. Very little personalization was spread about, but there was a breathtaking amount of plants to fill any space left wanting. He could view the balcony through the windows, and found a makeshift greenhouse taking up over half of the space. A bit of modern art was strewn here and there, which he found more performative than aligned with Crowley’s actual taste and personality. The only personal photos found themselves stuck onto the fridge with absurd or comical magnets. Aziraphale would have gone to take a closer look were the redhead not tearing through the kitchen. Instead he found a place out of the way at the island, admiring the sleek granite countertop and the abstract shapes that made up the interior’s detail work. If he thought the flat had been mysteriously high-end before, the inside assured there was no conceivable way that Crowley could pay for it on his salary. </p><p>“Make it here alright?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale marveled at the way he multi-tasked as if it was nothing, clearly focused on his handiwork while making casual conversation. It reminded him of when they were at work- minus the tetchy edge. The thought that Crowley was baring his soft side to him made the doctor smile. </p><p>“Yes. I actually ran into Dr- into Bealz on the lift.” </p><p>Crowley stopped in the middle of his chopping, golden eyes looking warily up at Aziraphale. How nice, the blonde thought without a trace of concern, this was the first night the redhead hadn’t even bothered to start off with wearing his glasses. Perhaps the private venue made him more comfortable. </p><p>“Let me take a wild guess, they said something that will leave me with crippling embarrassment?” </p><p>“It might,” Aziraphale said, unable to keep the playful grin at bay, “were I to share, although I believe I’ll keep it to myself.” </p><p>“Bastard,” Crowley huffed, pouting as he went to work with a whisk. He moved like it required no thought at all, hands flying about to grasp the next item without hesitation. The blonde had severely underestimated his proficiency in the kitchen. </p><p>“You two seem rather close,” he offered innocently. Not digging for reassurance, surely. Not asking the slightest bit out of anything resembling suspicion. </p><p>The whisking slowed, and Crowley tilted his head, measuring Aziraphale up with a guarded look. Well, that was certainly odd. </p><p>“Yeah,” he said, feigning a casual air. He seemed more on edge about this topic than any other they’d ever breached, and the doctor hadn’t the faintest idea why. “Best mates.” </p><p>“Didn’t you mention at Rocky Horror that you were non-romantic partners? Something like that?”</p><p>Crowley sniffed, avoiding eye contact. There was clear tension in his shoulders when he turned his back, still busy at work. The edge was a bit sharper when he spoke again, “Platonic life partners, yeah.”</p><p>That piqued Aziraphale’s curiosity, “What exactly does that entail?” </p><p>“Life partnership, but platonically,” Crowley provided, determined to be unhelpful. There was an undeniable defensiveness in his tone now. He seemed to realize as much, taking a deep breath before turning back to give a cheeky grin with a still too-sharp edge, nerves clearly frayed, “Does the prosecution have any further questions?” </p><p>Aziraphale was making him anxious, that much was clear. Still, the blonde couldn’t help but wonder why a few innocent questions would leave him in such a state. He supposed this was still rather new. Perhaps it was rude, sweeping in and asking Crowley to detail his closest personal relationships. Or maybe he’d received judgement for them, before. </p><p>“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, my dear. I fear a propensity for curiosity might occasionally present itself as prying. I hope you’ll forgive me.”</p><p>Crowley seemed to be second-guessing his reaction now, shame clear on his features as he ducked his head and lowered his gaze from Aziraphale’s. </p><p>“I didn’t mean- I thought-,” he started, and Aziraphale dearly wished he would finish. Whatever thought was swirling around in his head, he shook it out, clearing his throat and flashing a shy smile. “Nothing to forgive, angel. I’m the one who ought to apologize. <em> My </em>propensity for tetchiness will be chasing you off, and we can’t have that. At least, not before I stuff you full of beef wellington.”</p><p>“You’ve cooked me <em> beef wellington?” </em>Aziraphale asked, tone dripping with thrilled incredulity. The genuineness of his pleased shock was enough to get a very authentic grin from Crowley, who was already preening, much to the blonde’s approval. </p><p>“Well, we’ve had some pretty good meals together, and you’re such a foodie. Wasn’ ‘bout to make you a sandwich and call it a day.” </p><p>“You do know there’s a middle ground between those two dishes?” </p><p>Crowley stopped midway through plating, feigning ignorance to poke fun at himself, “What’s a ‘middle ground’?” </p><p>Aziraphale’s hand fluttered to his chest as he let out a loud laugh, leaving Crowley looking very pleased with himself, indeed. It was true; in the months Aziraphale had known the nurse, the most blanket statement he could make was that Crowley was an entirely all-or-nothing individual. He didn’t do things half-way. Attempting to do so would likely make him implode. </p><p>“What do you plan on doing, my dear? Outdoing yourself with every meal?” </p><p>“Well I <em> am </em>my own worst enemy,” Crowley teased, although there was clearly an element of truth to the sentiment. Aziraphale would have to tend to that. The figure stopped still in the middle of the kitchen, as if not fully believing he was out of ways to busy himself in preparation for dinner. It was cute, the doctor mused, that even on the third date, Crowley might be so frazzled in anticipation. Golden eyes fell to the bottle Aziraphale had set on the granite, as if he’d only just now calmed down enough to take in his surroundings. “Oh! You brought wine. It’s like you knew I’d forgotten. There you go again with your psychic shenanigans.” </p><p>“Oh yes, quite the rabble-rouser, me, bothering to bring wine when my date’s kind enough to cook me <em> beef wellington,” </em>he hummed, enjoying the pretty grin and second bout of preening, “It’s a Châteauneuf-du-Pape. I really ought to have asked what’s for dinner, but I suppose this should pair rather nicely.” </p><p>He attempted to offer to set the table but found it was already set. To open the wine, but Crowley was already busy at work uncorking it. Any task he could set himself to, the redhead rushed to complete it first. Oh he was such a good boy. Aziraphale found himself overwhelmed with the desire to reward him. To take care of him in turn. In the end, all he managed to do was pull out his host’s chair, and Crowley melted into the single act as if it had been a declaration of love. </p><p>Dinner was more divine than he possibly could have imagined. The conversation flowed as easily as ever, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but fall into the delightful habit of flustering Crowley where he could until the redhead would at last realize he was being teased. They laughed to the point of nearly crying when exchanging humorous anecdotes, though Aziraphale noticed Crowley would stop short and jump to a new story or subject whenever he found himself bringing up Beatrix. The redhead only ate a small portion of his food, watching Aziraphale eat as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever witnessed. A long hand covered his mouth as he did so, and the amber eyes looked much more hungry when fixed on the doctor than they did when looking down at one of the most appetizing meals Aziraphale had ever eaten in his life. </p><p>He nearly had a mind to open his mouth and ask why, but the moment he’d finished his dish, Crowley was hauling him out of his chair and over to the modern sofa, pushing him down and clambering into his lap. Aziraphale found himself lacking any objection whatsoever. Instead, he was rather grateful for the opportunity to reward the sweet man he had in his arms. Promises of dessert were long forgotten; he’d found himself with something much more delicious. </p><p>Crowley attempted to do the work, to press his angel back and coo at him to relax and work his wicked mouth against the underside of Aziraphale’s jaw. His fingers deftly worked at the knot of a bowtie, unbuttoning the top two closures of the broader figure’s shirt. The blonde placed one hand splayed out between pointed shoulder blades, the other smoothed over that pert ass, giving an indulgent squeeze. In one easy motion, he maneuvered their bodies so Crowley was pinned on the couch beneath him, enjoying the excited gasp it earned. His mouth was fast to the one that had just been accosting him, biting that plush lower lip when Crowley fought to win dominance over his tongue and easily sliding his own into the slick heat of the redhead’s mouth. He reveled in the sighs and moans he pulled from the nurse’s throat, surely more beautiful than any symphony he’d ever heard. They only became more breathless and his body more pliant when strong hands wandered and groped him greedily. </p><p>Long fingers attempted to snatch at his clothing, to slide over flesh, but Aziraphale caught the thin wrists, trapping them over Crowley’s head with a single hand, and <em> oh, </em> Crowley <em> loved </em>that. The redhead hopefully tested the strength of the hold, letting out a needy whimper into Aziraphale’s mouth when he found it wasn’t simply for show. </p><p>The blonde pulled back, hardly giving either of them a chance to catch their breath as he bared his weight down on Crowley. He lorded over him, unable to keep from looking entirely smug and proud of how ruined the beautiful man already was. Crowley’s lips were swollen, his face flushed. His eyes were clouded with undeniable lust and desire, his chest working hard. He attempted to squirm, and let out a broken moan upon realizing he was powerless below Aziraphale. </p><p>“You’ve been such a good boy for me, darling. So attentive. So eager to please. Won’t you let me show you how proud of you I am? You deserve a reward for all your hard work,” he panted, voice deep and gravelly with lust. He felt Crowley shiver beneath him, pressing his growing hardness up against a plush thigh. Aziraphale pressed down, grinding it between Crowley’s legs. Crowley’s eyelashes fluttered, and he gazed helplessly into the blonde’s domineering gaze. </p><p>“Angel! Oh, Aziraphale, please!” </p><p>A pleased rumble sounded from Aziraphale’s chest, and he released him from his fixed stare to nose under Crowley’s jaw, experimentally laying wet kisses and nips to the enticing throat that had been taunting him for weeks now. He was rewarded with small gasps and needy whines, enjoying the way they felt vibrating below his lips.</p><p>“Oh, Crowley. I fear I’m going to become quite addicted to hearing you call my name like that,” he moaned before latching down onto Crowley’s throat. The redhead stretched out his neck, a silent plead for more, and cried out, giving a helpless tug against the hand pinning him in place. Aziraphale rutted his own half hard cock against Crowley’s hip. His free hand slipped under his shirt, smoothing over the quivering stomach of that lean torso. He teased his hip bones, brushed teasingly low against the line of his trousers, and then explored upwards, pinching a pert pink nub between his fingertips. His head was dizzy, devoid of any thought other than pulling as much noise from the gorgeous figure as he possibly could. He was drunk. Drunk on the way Crowley sobbed his name, peppered with whimpers of ‘yes!’ and ‘oh, please!’ as he fruitlessly attempted to rut against Aziraphale’s thigh. </p><p>He leaned back, letting out a pleased rumble as he admired the tidy row of dark marks he’d left trailing down the side of Crowley’s long, pretty neck. He pushed the olive green v-neck up higher, admiring how well it complimented that dark orange hair, amber eyes, and freckled skin, before running a splayed hand down Crowley’s heaving chest, heartbeat racing and hard at work below his palm, and tugging at a nipple. </p><p>“Do you know, darling? Do you have any notion of how intoxicatingly gorgeous you are?” </p><p>Crowley let out a deep moan, biting his lower lip and giving a helpless squirm. He was flushed so dark, now. His eyes rolled back and he sucked in a sharp gasp, jaw dropping as Aziraphale grinded his thigh between his legs. An inkling of sense seemed to return to him as the pressure was relieved, traced with desperation. </p><p>“Angel! Angel, please! Please let me touch you!” </p><p>“Hmm,” Aziraphale frowned, running a thumb over Crowley’s collarbone where he fancied leaving more claiming marks. More tiny warnings that no one else should touch what was his. He was having a splendid time unwinding Crowley’s tight strings bit by bit, watching him fall apart in pleasure. The idea of accommodating the figure’s desire to touch him seemed one more generous than he preferred to entertain, currently. The undeniable hedonist in him was enjoying his current course of action far too much for selflessness. “Why should I?” </p><p>Crowley whimpered, the ruined, far-gone expression on his face so delicious Aziraphale hoped never to have it stripped away.</p><p>“You said I’ve been good,” he pleaded, fingers curling so sweetly around Aziraphale’s hand. </p><p>Oh he <em> was </em>a sly, clever devil. Aziraphale huffed a sigh, leaning back to appraise him. Sharp canine’s bit into a plush lower lip as Crowley waited with baited breath; a soft thumb tugged it free. The blonde had heard before that it was rude to play with his food, but he found he was having far too good a time to care for manners. He tilted his head. </p><p>“Such a wonderful little tempter, aren’t you? Are you begging me, Anthony?” </p><p>Crowley practically fell apart at the insinuation, “Yes! I’m begging you! Aziraphale, please! Please! I’ll do anything! I want to feel you!” </p><p>Aziraphale gave a wicked grin, releasing the shaking hands caught in his own, and Crowley dove in as if he was a starving man presented with an all-you-can-eat buffet. Hungry hands flocked to the chest and stomach and shoulders above him, rubbing and groping and roaming hungrily. His mouth went straight for Aziraphale’s neck, but he was stopped short as a hand twisted in his hair and pulled his head back sharply, coaxing out a breathy moan. The blonde knew perhaps it wasn’t <em> kind, </em>but he’d already been generous enough to release his hands, hadn’t he? And he’d just thought of how lovely a dark love bite might look between those beautifully pronounced collar bones. </p><p>He released him at last when long fingers, shaking with excitement, worked at his trousers closure, making quick work of unbuttoning them and lowering the zipper before sliding in to palm at the outline of his aching cock in his pants. Crowley’s teeth sank into the fleshy cushioning of the broad shoulder above him, and some tension slipped out of his body, as if it gave him comfort to at last perform the action. He lapped his long tongue over it soothingly before sucking a dark mark there. A thrill shot through Aziraphale as he did so. He quite liked the idea of Crowley claiming him in turn. The wandering hand slipped into his pants, taking the hardened member in hand and delivering a long stroke. </p><p>“Oh, <em> fuck, </em>Aziraphale,” Crowley laughed breathlessly, giving another squirm. </p><p>“Find something you fancy, darling?” Aziraphale teased, lazily rocking his hips into Crowley’s hand. The rhythm was slow and exploratory, fingers grasping reverently around the width of it and alternating pressure between them in a rolling motion on each measured stroke, occasionally sliding to roll the head of his cock in a warm palm. The blonde let out a deep moan, resting his forehead against Crowley’s and enjoying the view of a proud, mischievous grin there. Of course he would be clever with his fingers. </p><p>“You’ve no idea, angel,” Crowley moaned, lunging up into a sloppy kiss, dripping with need, “I’ve been day-dreaming about your fat cock for ages. Fantasizing. Oh it feels so <em> good.”  </em></p><p>A thrill of pride worked through Aziraphale’s chest, and he thrusted into the hand with a bit more vigor, finding the fingers tightened their grasp in response. “Fantasizing? How naughty. How did you tend to yourself during these fantasies?”</p><p>A coy whimper. Crowley attempted to bury his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder, but his hair was given a sharp tug again. The blonde looked into the wanton, dazed expanse of golden galaxies, enjoying the shy expression on that beautiful face. </p><p>“Tried the most expensive fucking toys I could find. Fucked myself with them. Wasn’t enough. Never enough. Didn’t do the thoughts justice. Nothing like what I’d imagine it’d be like to bounce on your hot fucking prick.” </p><p>“How filthy,” Aziraphale hummed in delight, kissing tenderly along the defined line of Crowley’s jaw and sucking on his earlobe. His cock gave a start in Crowley’s fingers. “I’ve fantasized about you, too, Anthony. Tying you to the bed. Fucking you into the mattress. Making you scream my name. Only letting you cum when I decide. Giving you the best orgasm of your life. Is that what you want?” </p><p>The hand stroking his erection stuttered. Crowley did his best to grind himself against Aziraphale’s thigh, feet sliding upwards so he might bend his knees around the leg.</p><p>“Yes! Aziraphale, yes! Please! I want it! I want you to use me!” </p><p>Aziraphale frowned, delivering a smack to the outer back part of Crowley’s thigh, just below his arse, that was hard enough to smart but not to ache. He earned a sharp gasp followed by a drawn out moan. It felt cathartic. There’d been more than one occasion now that he’d wanted to bend the self-destructive little demon over his lap and give him a good spanking. To make him think twice about chasing after whatever danger struck his fancy. </p><p>“No. Not use you. That’s not what I want. That’s not what you want either. Perhaps it’s what you think you deserve, but I’m going to change that. You’re going to be so good for me. You’re going to make me so proud with how much you can take, aren’t you my brave darling? What you want, what you really want, is for me to fulfil your needs. Your need to please. Your need to earn praise. Your need to be punished. Your need to be rewarded. You want me to take care of you.” </p><p>“Yes! Yes, that! Oh, would you?” Crowley was shaking now, breath unsteady and eyes fully glazed over with desire. He whimpered helplessly against Aziraphale’s mouth, working their tongues together in slow pulses and changing the pace of his hand into slower, deeper strokes. Aziraphale let out a guttural groan into the kiss, mind pleasantly buzzing from the little devil's skilled ministrations. He knew he should be grateful, but the hedonist inside him was hungry for more, wanting something tighter and more slick than a hand, no matter how skilled and clever the fingers of it were. Crowley leaned back and licked his lips, appearing to be on the same wavelength as he panted, “Let me be good for you. Let me earn it. Let me suck you off? Fuck my mouth, if you’d like. I’ll blow your bloody mind with how well I can take it. Please, let me. I’ve dreamed of it.” </p><p>The earnestness of Crowley's fervor to be dominated in such a way had him achingly hard. Aziraphale moaned and he closed his eyes as he rested his forehead against Crowley's, ready to give in, ready to strip Crowley naked, bind his wrists, command him to the floor, make him gag on his cock-</p><p>
  <em> Now I only get as far as the first lay with someone before I cut and run. Better to preserve the good memories and spare them. </em>
</p><p>The memory doused Aziraphale’s arousal like a bucket of ice water over his head.</p><p>“Wait,” he blurted out, recoiling away.</p><p>Crowley’s hands snatched away from him, flying to either side of his head in a display of innocence. “Waiting,” he panted back, flustered but clearly more coherent than he had been a moment before. The reaction was so lightning-fast it was nearly comical. Aziraphale sat back, letting Crowley clamber into a sitting position. Amber eyes were looking on in deep concern, and Aziraphale’s heart ached at what a good lover Crowley was to switch gears so quickly. He even managed to reign in the disappointment on his features as he watched the doctor tuck himself back into his pants and refasten his trousers. </p><p>Aziraphale understood the feeling, his own hormones raging in protest against the loss of such attentive pleasure and the rejection of a blowjob. He fought against himself not to imagine it, not to imagine how gorgeous Crowley would look on his knees, worshiping his cock as his throat was fucked. Would he leave scratch marks on Aziraphale’s thighs? Would he lose himself to it and rut against a thick shin after Aziraphale banned him from touching himself, chasing his own pleasure? Would he cry? Oh, how beautiful that would be...</p><p>
  <em> Enough of that, old boy. Focus, now. </em>
</p><p>“I don’t think…,” Aziraphale began, flustered that his speaking prowess had evidently abandoned him, “I think we ought to slow down.” </p><p>Surprise flashed across Crowley’s face, then confusion. Unique pupils flickered down to Aziraphale’s crotch where obvious arousal was tented in his trousers, and then back to his face, where they clearly sought signs of discomfort or distress. So worried. So attentive. Aziraphale scooted closer, holding his hands out in silent invitation for the ones still hanging suspended in the air. Crowley yielded them, uncertainly.</p><p>“I thought you-,” the redhead started, signs of anxiety becoming apparent before he tried again, “I didn’t know- Are you…?” </p><p>Okay? Violated? Upset? Uninterested? Regretting this? Regretting <em> me? </em> Aziraphale could hear every possible ending of the question in the tone of Crowley’s voice. He squeezed his hands. </p><p>“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted-” </p><p>“I did,” Aziraphale rushed to reassure, “I <em>do. </em>You’ve no idea how badly. Nothing to be sorry about.” </p><p>Crowley looked like he’d been thrown for a loop, clearly out of his element. A puzzled expression passed over his face, and he cocked his head.</p><p>“O- oh? Then… um… why- why ‘oughtn’t’ we?” he asked, transcending into a silly voice at the end to compensate for his confusion. Aziraphale let out a soft laugh, smiling fondly. </p><p>“I just… I think we should get to know one another better. I can’t think of anything I’d desire less than for this thing between us to be only a fleeting tryst.” </p><p>Crowley’s eyebrows shot upwards before his expression betrayed complete guilt and shame. </p><p>“I- … I didn’t mean to mislead you…,” he began. </p><p>Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he attempted to tilt his head down to compensate where Crowley was ducking his own, searching to meet his gaze.</p><p>“Is that what you were hoping for? A… fling?” he asked, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. He didn’t have time to question how sorely he must have misread Crowley were that the case. He didn’t want to entertain the idea that he’d been the only one falling head over heels. As if on cue, the nurse’s head shot back upright.</p><p>“No! No, I- ugh. Fuck. Look. I don’t want to waste your time. I… would love to learn everything about you. So much, and you can… try to learn more about me too. I’m an open book. It’s just… just…” </p><p>“Just what, darling?” </p><p>Crowley practically flinched at the pet name for the first time, and Aziraphale could predict the self-depreciation that was coming. </p><p>“Well, the content’s rubbish, ‘s’all. Shitty plot. Overly dramatic backstory. Unlikable main character who you just yell at through the whole story to stop being such a bloody wanker. I don’t know why you’d want to bother. I’m- this is really all I’m good for.” </p><p>Aziraphale frowned disapprovingly, and the redhead avoided his gaze. </p><p>“Crowley. That’s rather heinous slander. What’s all your good for? Marvelous conversation? Endless thoughtfulness? Extraordinary cleverness? Heart-aching kindness? You seem rather intent on reducing the reality. But I won’t have it. This is exactly why I want to get to know you better. I can’t imagine letting you go on thinking that the only reason I have an interest in you is sexual gratification. It’s as I said before; I have no interest in using you.”  </p><p>Crowley’s attention was back on him now. He was leaning forward, hands squeezing onto Aziraphale’s so hard it bordered on painful. </p><p>“You… want to get <em> closer </em>to me?” Crowley asked, so much vulnerability exposed by the question that Aziraphale wanted to cry at being trusted with it.</p><p>“Of course. Anthony,” he sighed, looking deeply into uncertain golden eyes. If now wasn’t a time for the unadulterated truth, he was unsure when was, “I find that I’ve become remarkably fond of you. Being with you gives me such joy, such a sense of… of wholeness. I feel that if I didn’t attempt to court you properly, I’d be cheating myself something cruel. Giving up on you now… well, perish the thought.” </p><p>He thought Crowley might cry, and a surge of hope burst through his chest at it. Golden eyes were gazing up at him, soft and open and filled to the brim with emotion. He looked like he couldn’t believe it. More importantly, he looked ever so much like he <em> longed </em>to. </p><p>“Oh,” he breathed, looking down at their hands. His gaze flickered unsteadily as he thought before raising back up to meet patient blue pools, “that’s alright, then. I’m up- very- that’s-... I really like you too, Aziraphale. Fancy you, I mean.” </p><p>What the words lacked in composure, they made up for in heartfelt honesty. Aziraphale smiled, very pleased with the outcome in conversation, and gave Crowley’s hands a squeeze, pulling him forward for the most tender kiss he’d ever had. A wicked grin quickly took over those handsome features, and Crowley murmured against his lips, “But don’t think I’ll make it easy for you.” </p><p>“I wouldn’t dare to assume,” Aziraphale laughed, kissing him in a way that he hoped showed a fraction of the fondness he felt. </p><p>“Well,” Crowley gave a performative sigh, crawling close and half-spilling into Aziraphale’s lap, an arm draping over his shoulders as the other pulled a thick forearm around his waist, “that’s my plans for the night gone to the bin, then. What to do… so many options…” </p><p>Aziraphale slowly smiled as Crowley pretended to think, amber eyes fixed on the ceiling until sliding down to give him a hopeful, sidelong gaze. </p><p>“Shall you subject me to your historical dramas, then?”</p><p>“Oh, what a good idea, angel! I never would have thought of that,” Crowley played along, a massive grin spreading on his face as he laid a kiss to the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth and hopped up to fetch the remote. </p><p>He had to give it to Crowley, he was very interested in Downton Abbey, just as the redhead had predicted. It was a marked improvement compared to the action films they’d seen together a week ago now. Crowley seemed hellbent on talking excitedly throughout the whole thing, explaining every character in detail or making witty jokes. He gave an overly-dramatic reaction to each twist that would make Aziraphale laugh. The blonde found it to be very silly and charming considering the redhead knew full well what was about to happen. </p><p>If the slender figure was fond of touching in public, he was an absolute koala in private, and shifted into various positions on or against Aziraphale. He’d most recently landed stretched out belly-down between Aziraphale’s legs, head on his chest and arms tucked around his waist. One of the doctor’s hands rubbed soothing circles over his back and the other played in red locks, softer now that he’d loosened the stiff product in it. The pair had long since finished the wine and cracked open another bottle. It was late into the night. They were on episode four, now. </p><p>“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked after such an uncharacteristically long silence that Aziraphale had suspected he’d fallen asleep.</p><p>“Hmm?” </p><p>Crowley rubbed the side of his face over the blue button up before turning his head to rest his pointed chin atop Aziraphale’s chest. A clear look of anxiety was on his face, and Aziraphale had a knee-jerk reaction to soothe it in whatever way possible. </p><p>“Do you think… given our conversation earlier…,” he started, trailing off, “never mind.” </p><p>He moved to shift back, but a strong yet gentle hand grasped the side of his face, keeping it in place. </p><p>“Please, Anthony. Tell me what you want.” </p><p>Crowley bit his lip in thought before taking a deep breath, mustering courage and rushing out, “I don’t want to see other people.” </p><p>Joy burst through Aziraphale’s chest, feeling like sunshine on a cold winter day. He couldn’t help but beam down at Crowley. In his happiness, he allowed himself to tease. </p><p>“Have yourself a harem on the side, do you?” </p><p>“Oh, yeah. Side action of all shapes and sizes right at my fingertips. A regular James Bond, me. My very daring and manly career makes me absolutely irresistible,” he bantered back with a toothy grin before his demeanor slid into something more earnest, “I mean it, Aziraphale. I’m not interested in being with anyone else, but if you think exclusivity is moving too fast or…or if there’s someone else- or if you don’t feel the same-”</p><p>“Crowley.” The redhead was pulled out of his paranoid thinking, looking deeply into blue eyes. Aziraphale brushed his thumb over Crowley’s cheek. “There’s only you, darling.” </p><p>The most beautiful smile Aziraphale had ever seen crossed over Crowley’s face, and a spindly hand raised to press against the back of his as Crowley leaned into the touch on his cheek. </p><p>“Alright, angel. Just remember what you signed up for. I have quite the jealous streak.” </p><p>Aziraphale grinned.</p><p>“I never would have guessed.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aaaaaaaaaaaaand we've made it to an explicit rating thanks to our horny boys!!! *throws confetti* don't worry, they won't get very far without engaging in some hanky panky ;3 But I gadda say- making their relationship official? Awfully cute. They're pretty fucking gone on each other (if you couldn't tell). </p><p>The spellcheck for Crowley's texting is just one big red line under the entirety of every text LMAO<br/>This SOB like: "Maybe if I text horrendously on PURPOSE no one will know I'm dyslexic"</p><p>Next chapter is a Bealz/bureaucracy chapter! We'll get to see how /those/ two are doing.</p><p>Some of my favorite authors have started doing fic recs, so I'm gonna, too! One I'm obsessed with right now/been thinking about all dang day is Shotgun Wedding by charlottemadison, a REALLY cute AU in which Aziraphale is a high school English teacher and Crowley is teenage Adam's uncle and guardian. It's undoubtedly a slow burn, but it pays off with some really choice smut. The YEARNING is just... just... *chefs kiss*! All around an incredibly wholesome love story. Currently a WIP but seems to be near the end.<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22557148/chapters/53902456</p><p>If you don't wanna yell at me about my fic, feel free to yell at me about this one xD<br/>Twitter: Get_wrexed<br/>Tumblr: getwrexed</p><p>Thank you guys so much as always for your amazing comments, I love hearing from you~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is an ineffable bureaucracy chapter, which going forward will be somewhat standalone from the plot of the husbands chapters!</p><p>CW: mention of childhood abuse/trauma and body shaming</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>With a few quick swipes of the mirror, indigo eyes found their own reflection. They trickled down his own damp body, observing toned muscles shifting with every movement. Soon the gaze flocked back to the wet mess of hair on his head, and Gabriel worked to style it quickly before the mirror inevitably fogged again. He huffed, meticulously pulling his clothing out of his gym bag and dressing, unbuttoning and refastening the second to top button of his deep violet shirt until he was satisfied with his now foggy reflection and setting to work folding his sleeves up. The tails of his shirt were strategically tucked into deep grey fitted trousers, and he was just lacing up his shoes when the sound of a rhythmic vibration smothered deep under dirty gym clothes distracted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eager hands flocked to ruffle through it to find the phone. If he was unlucky, it would be one of the many girls he’d been frequenting contact with less and less- the ones who couldn’t pick up a hint. If he was lucky, it was Beatrix Bealz, and he flocked to the call like a dog to a whistle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the beginning it might have been an unexpected dick pic, a request for nudes, a bossy command that he appear at a clearly stated time and place or he could get it twice as rough next time. And he loved all that, he did. But he loved the recent developments more. The occasional image of something green they were about to ingest, the leveraging of such as a get-out-of-jail-free card for when they undoubtedly irritated him later. Titles of horror films they were intent on subjecting him to. Random facts about the frequency of bear attacks. Hilarious screenshots of exchanges with other obscurity collectors asking to trade. The point was, with every random text, they were thinking about him. They were thinking about him as more than a hot piece of ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that he was starting to </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>them (or ‘fancy’ as the Brits said, and perhaps it was more accurate) had completely snuck up on him, much to his own chagrin. He tried to convince himself it was just the oxytocin, but the truth ran deeper than that. Beatrix was shameless, loud, eccentric, absolutely unique in the most bizarre way. In a way that should have repulsed him. In a way that society often turned their noses up at, and they were proud to be that individual. The truth was he wasn’t repulsed at all. He was intrigued. Envious. Full of admiration that poured over and invited more emotion than shallow carnal desire into their bed. They were everything he’d been taught not to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might not have seemed like much: the nights of bickering and bullying without the slightest sexual connotation, the way they’d press themselves against his back after sex and wrap their limbs around him while they pet his hair and praised him, the fact that the last time he’d went to their place he’d found spinach in the fridge- a food they would vehemently protest contacting with a ten-foot pole. They only took interest in unique things. Unwanted things. They saw something special in them. Perhaps at the start, he’d be disgusted at his desire to become one of those things. But now? How wasn’t he supposed to chase that feeling after a lifetime of stifling any trace of spirit that wormed its way inside him in favor of being a bland token of privilege? A blank, despicable character with generic interests who was viewed as empty and unfeeling?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found his phone at last, thumb quickly tracing the pattern to unlock it and flicking to his text messages.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>
      <em>Text From Bea October 19 7:18 AM </em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>[Sent: Image]</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gabe reeled back at the image of gore on his phone, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Ugh. Couldn’t he at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>to work before being subjected to gnarly medical bullshit?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>
      <em>Text Sent to Bea October 19 7:19 AM </em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ew? Why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Duplex kidney. Wicked. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why a picture, though?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Patient’s a fellow morbid curioso. Wanted pictures after it was out.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes but to what do I owe the privilege of this grody shit on my phone?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Like I said. Wicked. Get with the program, Wanker. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, fuck you </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Coffee first, eh? </em>
  </b>
  <b>😜</b>
  <b>🍆</b>
  <b>🍑💦</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Smh lol you’re so immature</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>N yet you’re lettin me tap that, yeah? Must not find it too problematic. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grinned as he thought of something to type back. Some teasing remark about having low standards or something of the like, but was promptly pulled out of his thoughts by a sharp cracking sound and the smarting of his ass. Gabriel whipped around, glaring at his gym buddy, Christopher, who was currently laughing giddily and twisting up a wet towel again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How old are you? Twelve?” the physician droned, rolling his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just figured you’re clearly whipped enough, smiling at your phone like that all moony-eyed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel huffed, packing up the rest of his things and zipping his bag shut before giving a measured, placated smile at Chris in the reflection of the mirror. “Please. Me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeahh, you. Pussy-king Winger! Better be some pretty sweet tang you’re chasin’ after to be that stuck in your head.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that,” he offered noncommittally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well go and get it G-Dog! Woof Woof!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel hardly kept the smile on his face as he left the locker room, sucking in a breath of fresh air as soon as the door shut behind him and letting his expression fall. His feet instinctively moved towards the gym exit. Jesus Christ. What a neanderthal. To think only a few months ago he might have played along. No wonder Bealz and Crowley had been poking fun at him at every turn; he’d been content to being the lowest brand of human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he still was, he thought. Wasn’t he still that hurting little coward, masquerading with health and fitness as a personality? Resigned to a career he didn’t care for? Distancing himself from the concept of humanity as far as possible lest, god forbid, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>something? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A triple cappuccino, dry, if you would, and an egg, ham and cheese croissant. Yes, that would be all. Thank you ever so much, my dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel slowed as he spotted Aziraphale at the front of the queue at the overpriced little cafe near the entrance and found himself relieved to be pulled from his thoughts. The older doctor was already dressed in his ridiculous, dated, prim and proper affair, white curls still damp, presumably from his post-swim shower. His own tartan-patterned duffle was slung over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit bland for you. Isn’t it, Fell? Thought you were too much of a gourmand for flavorless coffee.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale turned towards Gabriel, cocking a brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gourmand? Really? Surely, dear boy, there has to be some law of nature you’ve affronted upon the utterance of a word so vastly astray from your typical vocabulary.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel grinned wider, attempting not to laugh out loud. They’d come closer over the last couple months, which had somehow spiraled into a dynamic of back-and-forth burns. He had to admit, it was a strange friendship, but a fun one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, c’mon. What? Your morning swim leave you hungry </span>
  <em>
    <span>and- </span>
  </em>
  <span>what’s the word you people use? ‘Tetchy’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ought to caution you against using the term ‘you people’; one of these days you might bestow it upon the wrong person, and they are bound to misunderstand your meaning,” Aziraphale seamlessly barrelled out with his nose in the air as he moved to the end of the bar and collected his order. Gabe could have taken it as an insult that the blonde acted so superior. Instead he felt a bit special that Aziraphale let him pass the all-smiles-all-the-time front to the snobbish, quick-witted intellectual that lay below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the advice,” Gabriel mocked, smile not leaving his face for an instant, “I can repay you with a ride to work? The Tube is filthy. Might get your frills dirty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My fri- ,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Aziraphale started with incredulity running deep in his tone. Then he caught Gabriel’s eye, and rolled his own, scoffing out a disbelieving laugh, “Yes, I suppose you rather owe it to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a good deal more bickering as they made their way through the parking deck. Occasionally one of them would break the bit and bark out a laugh before spitting back a half-assed retort. They crawled into the sports car, and Gabriel noticed Aziraphale wasn’t munching on the sandwich, nor was he drinking the cappuccino. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So how ‘bout that pool? Not half bad, right? Glad I suggested it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde sat up too straight in the low seat and spun the carry-out cup between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s not the ocean, I’m afraid, but perhaps that’s an unfair standard of measurement. It serves me well enough to aid in draining any excess frustration from my system.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, burnt through all the hot ass on tinder?” Gabriel wondered aloud, enjoying the way Aziraphale sucked his teeth at the jab as if to say ‘why do I tell you anything?’ Still, he could swear he saw the scarcest proud grin on his fellow physicians’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It… would happen that I no longer have use for such applications.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, so that explained it. The ever-obnoxiously-optimistic doctor had managed to find a way of being even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more </span>
  </em>
  <span>happy-go-lucky these last couple weeks. It had been unbearable. At least now Gabriel knew there was just cause for wanting to blow his own brains out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding? Got yourself a guy? Good on you, Fell. Or at least it might be if he was putting out. What a dud. You oughtta cut your losses and move to the next one now that you know you still got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That earned a fussy harrumph, but Gabriel kept his eyes on the traffic up ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a romantic sentiment. Your word is sacred on the matter, I imagine,” Aziraphale droned, the rolling of his eyes clear in his tone itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the ride was spent with similar banter. Ensuring a quick car ride. An attempt to dig into Aziraphale’s recent romantic exploits was made, but then the clever doctor was making assessments of his own, including particularly scandalous rumors of work-place trysts. Gabriel was left pouting by the time they pulled into the garage, the passenger-seat occupant looking quite pleased with himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A certain nurse’s angry shouting reverberated down the hallway the moment the pair of physicians entered the A&amp;E, and a raging pain drilled its way into Gabe’s skull without mercy or hesitation. If he were the Chief of A&amp;E, he would ban the head nurse from taking double shifts. Crowley on any given day was a pill. Crowley after the night shift was a nightmare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-now if anyone else asks me another question that you shouldn’t have gotten your nursing license without knowing the answer to, I’ll throw you in the bloody incinerator!” the redhead huffed after completing his tangent. He threw himself down into his rolling chair and slid back towards his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winger made a bee-line to avoid the nurse. Fell seemed to have different plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Crowley!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The redhead turned just as the blonde set the coffee and breakfast sandwich on his desk. He perked up, a soft, delighted look on his face the likes of which Gabriel had absolutely not thought possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ugh. A blessed angel, you are,” Crowley sighed before greedily snatching up the drink. Aziraphale gave him a warm, fond smile and tapped the upper counter of the nurse’s station in satisfaction before pulling away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. Interesting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Aziraphale rejoined him to walk towards their offices, he couldn’t help but boast a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you took my advice, huh? Told you he was into you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes rolled to the ceiling, and sarcasm dripped from Aziraphale’s tone, “oh yes. We might’ve never found our way to one another were it not for your guiding light.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel chose to ignore the tone and pretend it was genuine appreciation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A relationship, though. What, you like getting yelled at?” he asked as if he had a leg to stand on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked genuinely disappointed at the suggestion, furrowing his brows at Winger, “Not in the slightest. He’s terribly sweet, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabe snorted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Okay. I’ll believe it when I see it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first half of his shift went by easily enough, although it made him question his choice in career as much as ever. He couldn’t say he was passionate about medicine. He couldn’t say he was eager to treat gangrene. He couldn’t say he got joy from making incisions to insert tubes into ailing people. He couldn’t say he shared Bealz’ interest in gore. He certainly couldn’t say that the amount of patients he sent out the doors feeling better made up for the ones that never got up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily his job kept him too busy to dwell. He flocked to his next patient, withholding a groan when finding Crowley already there, hooking the woman up to IVs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the situation?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anastasia Lebedev, 67, had a seizure on the Tube after it was stuck on the track for over an hour. Nasty gash on the back of her head. Unconscious, but it looks like she’s coming to now,” the redhead provided, stepping aside to allow Gabriel room to examine her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Indeed, the old woman was groaning. He lifted her eyelids, shining light into each and watching as she slowly regained awareness. Incoherent mumbles escaped her, and he realized they weren’t English.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Lebedev, can you hear me?” he asked, at last taking the light away when she winced away from it, lest Crowley smack it from his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No English,” she groaned, attempting to lift her head. Crowley stilled her, hushing her quietly. She was covered with a sheen of sweat, shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Drugs, maybe?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you fucking kidding me? She just had a seizure,” Crowley snapped. If looks could kill, the nurse would have murdered him years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well we can’t rule anything out. Let’s test her blood, try to figure out what’s going on. Once we’ve stabilized her condition, we’ll send her up for a CT. We need to know if she has any preexisting conditions before we start pumping her full of anything. Ms. Lebedev, have you had a seizure before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No English,” she repeated again before her eyes fluttered open again. The woman was confused. Unfocused. Having difficulty maintaining consciousness. With a panicked whimper, she went off on a tangent in her native tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, you’re okay. You’re safe,” Crowley soothed, washing a hand over her upper arm and keeping his tone quiet and calm. He starting prepping her to draw her blood. On sight of the needle, her anxiety redoubled and she thrashed as much as her weak limbs would allow. “Don’t panic! It’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you- shit. By the time we get a translator for her she’ll be out cold again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well at least we'd be able to take a blood sample."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A yellow-eyed glare told him he could either help or be publicly humiliated. The choice was his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds Slavic,” Gabriel chose to offer, “Ukrainian?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman looked at him in confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Russian?” Crowley asked, and she seemed to respond, becoming a bit more alert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Da, da,” she offered weakly in confirmation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good!” the nurse confirmed, looking around himself. There was the smallest trace of undeniable nerves in his body language, and he sighed in defeat, looking back at Gabriel. “Okay I think I can figure this out, but it might cost me greatly. Hang tight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t just walk off- and there he goes,” Gabriel growled, rolling his eyes and seating himself on the rolling stool next to Anastasia as she rambled at him in Russian. He made a few more attempts to draw her blood, but even on the verge of losing consciousness, she had no shortage of spirit. Each attempt to touch her resulted in his hand being angrily slapped away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Lebedev,” greeted a comfortingly familiar, monotonous voice. He raised his head, finding Bealz dressed in a high-waisted, wine-red, suede pencil skirt and a thin black sweatshirt patterned with grey skulls. Crow’s feet hung down from their ears beneath feathery black locks. Their icy blue eyes surveyed the woman carefully, “I’m your surgeon, Beatrix Bealz.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surgery? I haven’t even diagnosed her yet,” Gabriel scoffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was served with a blank look. The both of them looked to Crowley, who was ducking his head and averting Bealz’ gaze like a child who knew he’d misbehaved. The woman rambled again, and Beatrix narrowed their eyes menacingly at him. Gabriel didn’t envy him, but figured if one of the two of them had to put their head on the chopping block, he’d prefer it be Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck, Anthony?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at her,” he defended himself weakly, “She won’t let us take blood. We need to calm her down and being in a strange hospital where no one speaks her language makes that a bit of a challenge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The freezing fixation of cold eyes didn’t warm at the explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So being misunderstood further will help how?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Trix. Would it kill you to try?” he pleaded, golden eyes going wide and soft as he did so. On the outside, Bealz’ terrifying front didn’t seem to let up, but they chewed at their cheek the way they only did when considering something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try what?” Gabe snapped, not keen on being left out of the loop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz didn’t acknowledge him before coldly droning, “She’s talking too fast, I don’t understand her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just- just tell her it’s all okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The petite figure huffed, hands flying to their hips as they turned to the woman and spat out a few disjointed words in what was, presumably, Russian. Anastasia’s brows shot up right alongside Gabriel’s. He was shocked to silence while the old woman ran her mouth like an athlete at the Olympics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ghhh,” Bealz growled, flashing sharp canines in a grimace before gripping their forehead, “And she’s off again. No fucking idea what she’s saying.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask her if she has any preexisting conditions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The surgeon fixed Crowley with a dubious glare. Gabe would have guessed their silence implied that was a bit advanced for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or- y’know, c’mon, somethin’ like it. Please. For me,” Crowley huffed, flopping his arms to his side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A long sigh escaped Bealz, and they engaged in a rather forced conversation with the patient. Their speech was slow and broken and littered with the occasional English word. The woman didn’t seem to mind, and after witnessing Bealz frustratedly wave their arms a few times and stutter the same word repeatedly, she seemed to get the hint that she ought to slow down. At times she even took care to use a mothering tone at Bealz, clearly giving them encouragement or scolding them when they got too flustered. Crowley looked on eagerly. Gabriel felt a flicker of annoyance that every decent professional in this hospital seemed to hold the obnoxious, self-righteous, demanding, obstinate nurse on a pedestal, bending over backwards just to please him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has diabetes, type one, if I’m to be trusted. Sounds like she got stuck going on an errand and had a hypoglycemic episode,” Bealz huffed in English after a time, “She’ll let you take her blood but she wants sugar first. ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair enough,” Gabriel mused, not so much as looking at Crowley before he was scampering off to fetch glucose to inject in her IV. He came back quickly, helping the woman lean up to take an eager sip of water. He was still shying away from Bealz’ gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was fucked up, Anthony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She needed-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know. But you should have told me. Convinced me. It’s not like persuasion isn’t the thing your best at. Next time, don’t fucking manipulate me. You know better. I’ll be back to check on her after lunch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ducked his head again, effectively shamed. As Bealz made their exit, Gabriel cocked a brow at Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About time someone called you out on your shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>bitch boy,</span>
  <em>
    <span>” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Crowley hissed back, adjusting the setting on the IV. He set to work adjusting Anastasia’s bedding, ensuring she was comfortable on her side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look who’s talking, sleeping with the chief. What, the power dynamic a turn on for you? Excited to finally find someone who can manage getting your stubborn ass under their thumb?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ngk-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had just been mindless banter, and Gabriel swore that it was a trick of the light at first when Crowley stiffened and actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>blushed. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The redhead cleared his throat, averting purple eyes for the first time Winger could recall in their four-year working history before managing out a wavering, “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Sod off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or what?” Gabriel couldn’t help himself, high on the thrill of having the upper hand at long last, “Gonna run and tattle to Daddy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat shit, Wanker,” Crowley growled, flush deepening by three shades as he stormed off towards the nurse’s station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the day went rather quickly. There was more than enough work to be done, but not enough that he feared he’d be stuck there long past the end of his shift. He’d passed Ms. Lebedev several times, and had been surprised to find Bealz there talking with her a handful of those occasions. He didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>to eavesdrop, but without the pressure of urgency, Beatrix seemed to relax more into the foreign language, conversing easily, if not a bit slowly, with Anastasia and sounding numerous hearty laughs. It was so pretty, their Russian. He wondered if they’d speak it while seeing to him, or maybe even when he was falling asleep. Then Ms. Lebedev’s daughter showed up, and Bealz wasn’t seen in the A&amp;E again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time his shift came to its finish, he was holed up in his office, engaged in the comfortable, mindless work of filling out charts and answering emails. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really oughtn’t tease Crowley too much about his romantic life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel jumped nearly two feet in the air, hand rushing to his heart as he glared at Bealz, perched quietly across him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Bealz. You’re lucky I’m in good shape. Why the fuck do you sneak up on people like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘S fun, innit?” they teased, disorganizing his desk on purpose simply for the entertainment of his annoyance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so. Anyway, why shouldn’t I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They raised a black brow at him, an amusement toying at the corner of their lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just saying, he’s my best mate. It won’t take him much to figure out,” they leaned forward, flashing a salacious grin, “pot, kettle. Kettle, pot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel felt heat rush to his face and cleared his throat, pretending to busy himself on his computer. They both knew the monitor didn’t hold a fraction of his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t know you spoke Russian.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at them curiously, “So, what? Did a Russian ghost possess you or something? Because I’m pretty sure I know what I heard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awh, can you imagine? How wicked would that be?” Bealz mused, eyes far away as they clearly imagined the scenario. Ah yes, ever interested in the occult, no matter how unsettling Gabriel found the subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never seen you that cozy with a patient.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well. Sweet little babushka. Swear she was some kind of witch, no wonder why I liked her. Even had me spittin’ out facts ‘bout my childhood, and that takes some kind of magic, let me tell you,” they snorted, legs collapsing into a pretzel beneath them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, relieved they’d decided to stay and give him company. Purple eyes carefully assessed the figure across him. The surgeon didn’t seem to mind, snatching a pen out of his pencup and doodling crude images on a notepad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penny for your thoughts?” he finally asked after building enough courage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” They raised a brow at him, blue eyes blankly boring into him for several seconds before realization crept into them. Bealz leaned back, letting out an empty- and if he wasn’t mistaken, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nervous- </span>
  </em>
  <span>laugh before they waved a dismissive hand, “Dunno ‘bout that, Winger. I’ve made a career of cutting people open and guttin’ em, but only when it’s absolutely necessary. I don’t think that… that </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatever </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is going on between us has made you deserve subjection to the personal Hell that was my childhood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel frowned, and for a moment, he felt shut out. It wouldn’t be the first time. Beatrix had jumped into bed with him, sure, but getting to actually know them had taken an impossible amount of patience. Of trial and error. Of being pushed away and locked out for staggering lengths of time. He realized, suddenly, that they hadn’t changed position. Hadn’t changed the subject, even. They were right there, and they weren’t saying ‘no’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps emotional intimacy was more on the table than he had previously thought. The concept shot hopeful adrenaline through his system, and he cleared his throat, finding his words carefully as he folded his hands over the light wood of his modern desk, “Well. Consider it an elective procedure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Black eyebrows shot up, and ice blue eyes bore into him so hard he felt their chill. Slowly, Bealz’ face relaxed, and a small, tired smile took residence there. Several moments of silence passed, and Gabriel realized he was holding his breath again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Just remember you asked for it,” they said at long last, and he relaxed back into his chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But-,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Beatrix interjected sharply, having him grow tense all over yet again, “If I’m going to tell you this, then I need you to- y’know. Not be a total arsehole for ten entire minutes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed, rolling his eyes, and then, upon realizing he was being self-incriminating, cleared his throat and shook his head. Mustering up all the bravery he could, he reached across his desk, taking their small hand away from the paper and holding it in his. “I think I can manage.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost think the look Bealz was leveraging against him now was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>soft </span>
  </em>
  <span>one. But that wasn’t Bealz. They didn’t do ‘soft’. Not for anyone. With a deep, shaking breath, they imparted their story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My parents were immigrants. My paternal uncle pulled some illegal strings to get their visas accepted and in turn blackmailed them into working in his crack den. So, y’know, by the time I’m born I’m naturally off to a great start. I was assigned male at birth. Weeks later, I’m dying, because, y’know, adrenal failure. Doctor spills I’m actually a highly virilized genetic female with Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia. Dad decides I’m not worth drawing air and isn’t shy ‘bout showin’ it. Mum decides to play pretend, put me in frills, all that. Let’s me live in filth because she can’t bare to wash me or change me and risk breaking her little fantasy about me being a lovely little girl; cares a whole lot about my gender presentation but not ‘t’all about protecting me from abuse and the horrors of living in a trap house. Barely afforded the meds and hormones I need. Absolutely couldn’t afford, you know, ‘corrective’ surgery,” they paused to perform air quotes, “thank Satan for that. Only favor they ever did me. I'm quite comfortable with myself. 'Course you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel’s saliva had turned thick in his mouth, and he was struggling to swallow, eyes fixed hard on Beatrix, who looked anywhere but back at him. He tried to keep his anger under control. It’s not like he could go back. It’s not like he could change it now. It was a struggle to remind himself not to hurt them with how tightly he clutched their delicate fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can imagine, going to school like that, that primary was just a wonderful time. I was smart, obviously, but horrendously bullied. Which- I mean, boo-fucking-hoo, who wasn’t? Was selectively mute from the trauma, though. Tried to stay out of the house as much as I could. Lived in the library half the time. The rest of it was spent wanderin’ around the forest poking dead animals open with sticks. Liked it. Liked that out of something ugly as death came something so pretty. Liked seeing the truth of how complicated living is, neatly packaged inside a cadaver as if it all makes sense, even if most people are afraid to look,” Bea paused, mind wandering before they remembered the task at hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, got taken into foster care at 12. Was quickly diagnosed with epilepsy. But who really wants a mute, morbid, medically needy kid? They offered me surgery incessantly. Even tried to suggest it would make me more ‘adoptable’, but I didn’t want it. Some folks do, and they're happy for it and I'm happy for them. That's just not how I felt. Couldn't see how it was anyone else's business, anyway. Got put in the same home as Anthony at 15. He was the first person who-,” they sucked in a breath, working their jaw. They overcompensated for the ache of the memory, looking almost angry instead, “Who didn’t look at me like I was filthy or broken. The first person who told me I didn't need to be a girl if I didn't want to be. The first person who was worth talking to. He was alone and rejected and afraid, too. We just… stuck like bloody magnets. We’ve been taking care of each other ever since. He's the only person who's ever made me feel wanted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden, the physician found himself with a whole new appreciation of Crowley. Sure, he had a myriad of traits Gabriel would be quick to turn his nose up at. Loyalty wasn’t among them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally got vaginoplasty at 16 when my cycle started up, too painful to go without. Been in therapy all my life. Had a few partners. All faithless, horrible shits, but it was nice to play pretend that I could be wanted the way I hoped. Got married once, over a decade ago. Divorced two years later. Been around long enough to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that no one could ever want me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They paused at last, shaking now, and pulled their hand away to raise it with the other, steepling their fingers over their nose. Their elbows rested atop the desk, and they took a deep, wavering breath, eyes cast down as they spat, voice void of emotion, “And you know, now I’m thinking this would be much easier if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be an arsehole.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel didn’t look away. He didn’t understand why they looked more broken down than he’d ever seen them. Of course, it was a difficult past. More difficult than he could bear to imagine, but they carried it always. That was just them- tough. The toughest. Then ice blue eyes turned on him, pleading, and he realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been in his bed more than once. Slept soundly in arms that could easily crush them. Let him put his mouth on them. But none of that had the vulnerability that this did. It reminded him of that quiet night they’d cried into his shoulder. That the pair of them had gone silently through caring, careful motions of domesticity and comfort. They weren’t fighting this time, but they were afraid. Afraid of him. His reaction. He’d never disliked a feeling lodged against him more than this one. He wanted to dismantle it as soon as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had to be careful. This was Bealz, who didn’t tell stories about their terrible childhood. Who didn’t get emotional in front of other people. Who was used to always having the upper hand, always being in control. He had to reassure that security. To let them know that they’d always have the upper hand, if he had any say, even if he liked to make them work for it at times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat up straighter, putting on his best mocking sneer before scoffing, “Jesus, Beatrix. You really are such a pretentious egomaniac. Think that because you graduated top of your class and have stupid high IQ, you somehow know everythin</span>
  <span>g. The fact that you’re convinced that your perception of the world is the truth of it is so stubbornly, ignorantly </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But you're wrong, and so full of shit. Get off your high horse. I know you're a control-freak, but you don't get to control how other people feel or if they want you. It could happen. It's not your place to butt in and decide otherwise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz’ eyebrows were practically at their hairline, jaw slack in shock. Were it a different situation, Winger would have laughed. Slowly, they closed their mouth. Blinked once. Twice. Five times. Their eyes were more watery than before, their throat struggling hard at work. They licked their lips, stifling a smirk and leveraging an incredibly fragile smile instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They nudged his food under the desk, and in the most appreciative, quiet tone Gabriel had ever heard:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you, Winger.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cracked a grin, leaning back in his chair and looking right back. The ice cold winter in their eyes had never felt more like paradise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey. Fuck you, too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was really nervous to post this chapter! I've been doing research in preparation for this and having important talks with people it pertains to, and I never see intersex people represented (people born with intersex traits are more common than redheads!), so I wanted to use this as a chance to try to do as much. If you can relate to the experience, please know that you're seen, loved, and valid in your identity and choices! </p><p>If you're not familiar with the meaning of 'intersex' and wanna learn more, here's a great resource: https://isna.org/faq/what_is_intersex/</p><p>Gabe's really coming around to this 'having feelings' business. It was SOOOO weird to write from his POV, but a fun challenge! He's way softer than I expected him to be, but I guess that's kind of the deal with him and Bealz, competitive assholes on the outside, marshmallows in need of unconditional love on the inside. And tbh, it looks like Gabe's not the only one catching feels ;3 </p><p>Hope this helps you get through the end of the week! Not quite sure when the next update will be, but we'll be checking back in on the boys and see how their relationship is going! </p><p>And the fic rec of the week iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis... The Burning Sky by Beckers522 ! This WIP is an Avatar the Last Airbender AU set at the beginning of the 100 year war where Crowley is a Fire Nation mercenary tracking down a certain Air Nomad (Aziraphale), who he wrongly suspects to be the Avatar.<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537322/chapters/59246503</p><p>Tbh I'd be quick to recommend pretty much any of Beckers' fics, she has some pretty spectacular ones. </p><p>Feel free to hit me up on Twitter or Tumblr with any questions, or just if you feel like talking!<br/>Twitter: Get_Wrexed<br/>Tumblr: Getwrexed</p><p> </p><p>Edit: AHHHH we passed the 100k word mark, y'all! Thanks for sticking with me on the journey!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: needles (hooking up an IV), vomiting</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Halloween. The absolute best day of the year, and no- Crowley was <em> not </em> open to debate on the subject. On a <em> Saturday, </em>no less!</p><p>After doing all but blood sacrifice to secure a myriad of favors, Crowley and Beatrix managed to avoid working what was decidedly the worst and most demanding evening for the A&amp;E and Trauma. Considering their ranks at the hospital, it was quite the feat, and their ragtag friends had managed to clear their schedules similarly. Crowley had his crew, his costume, and VIP access (including bottle service) to one of Southwark’s hottest clubs, and he found himself eager to celebrate International Slut Visibility Day in style. </p><p>His perfectly planned evening lost a great deal of its appeal when he learned his new significant other had selflessly volunteered to work the evening. </p><p>“If it’s truly such a madhouse, it wouldn’t do as the new Chief of A&amp;E to skive on the first Halloween following my appointment. Someone ought to keep the ship afloat, no?” had been Aziraphale’s all-too-rational argument before chiding Crowley’s pouting tantrum. No matter of whining about how the doctor didn’t even <em> work </em>Saturdays seemed to have an effect on the matter. </p><p>Stupid altruistic angel. Stupid logic. Sod it all. Here Crowley had barely contained his excitement to drag his hermit boyfriend out on the town. To pull him to the dance floor and grind up on him as he snickered at Crowley’s terrible moves and pretended to be aggrieved, turning his nose up at the awful ‘bebop’. To introduce him to Faust and the gang- the closest thing he could get to introducing him to family. To share far too many drinks and stagger outside, giggling, making clever jabs about the costumes they passed, and perhaps even slipping into a nearby alleyway for a lazy snog. Maybe his costume might have even seduced Aziraphale enough that he’d realize he’d gotten to know Crowley as much as he might wish to and opt for a romp in the hay. Not that the redhead <em> wished </em>for the end so soon, but it was inevitable, wasn’t it? Might as well go out with a bang. Literally. But no, all those hopes had been crushed like rubbish and tossed in the bin. </p><p>The first hour or so of their outing, Crowley pouted in the booth, spamming Aziraphale with text messages asking that didn’t the blonde know he was supposed to be here to be the doctor to his nurse? The only text he got in return- fair enough quantity since he could only imagine what a nightmare the A&amp;E was- was that being a nurse for Halloween didn’t seem nearly inventive enough as Aziraphale would expect out of Crowley. The redhead had nearly devised a cheeky reply about how the doctor likely wouldn’t complain if he were to see it himself when his mobile was snatched away. </p><p>“C’monnn, Mx. Clingy! What’re you gonna do? Text him all night and scare him off?” </p><p>Crowley sat up straighter, a frown on his red painted lips as he looked at Bealz, who was fully dressed in a rather accurate portrayal of Edward Scissorhands. “Do you really think I’m chasing him off?”</p><p>Bealz rolled their eyes, “Please. He’s over the bloody moon for you, but I would say anything to get you out of your head! C’monnnn! Have a drink with me. Hit the dance floor! Make sure I don’t stab anyone with my props!” </p><p>“Implying you’d do it on purpose?” A grin slowly spread across Crowley’s face.</p><p>“Who knows what I’d do in retaliation of being stood up by my lovely date.” </p><p>Always able to get Crowley to bend to their will, Bealz had him up and off in moments.The group drank copious amounts before going ‘adventuring’, attempting to do trick-or-treating at midnight, and winding up at a secret party in an abandoned warehouse where they watched Faust do drunk parkour and Crowley insisted on bodyshots. After getting thrown out for Carmine beating the living shit out of a creep who’d tried to feel up Crowley, they decided to call it a night. </p><p>The redhead staggered upstairs with an absolutely smashed Beatrix. Despite their protests and occasionally attempts to slap him, he managed to clean the makeup off their face and change them into sleeping clothes before dumping them on their bed and returning to his own flat. With a glance in his full-length bedroom mirror, he grinned, pleased to see he was looking as fine as when the night had started and eager to get on with the idea that had been running through his head all night. </p><p>He pulled his mobile from where it was tucked into his garter and pulled up his conversation with Aziraphale. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to Angel November 1 4:13 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Home safe, u up? </b>
</p><p>I am now. I was having quite an interesting dream about you just a moment ago, and I’m inclined to be cross with you for parting me from it. </p><p> </p><p>A grin toyed at Crowley’s lips, and he preened at the insinuation. Occasionally, he would get doubts in the midst of their abstinence that Aziraphale wasn’t sexually interested in him at all. Of course, setting the record straight when Crowley’s imagination ran amok was one of the doctor’s strong suits. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>N I’m inclined 2 regain ur favor. Trick or treat? </b>
</p><p>I should think you’d get your wires crossed when attempting one or the other. </p><p>
  <b>C’mon, angel ;) I’ve got smth pretty tasty 4 u</b>
</p><p>Do you, now? That doesn’t seem to be playing fair, you know I have a sweet tooth. </p><p>But I suppose I’ll indulge you this once. Treat. </p><p>
  <b>How kind~ </b>
</p><p> </p><p>A thrill of excitement twisted in Crowley’s gut, and he rushed to grab a chair from the dining room and place it in front of the mirror. Hiking up the already scandalously short skirt of his slutty nurse costume up around his hips, he sat, taking several photos from different angles and positions. He settled on a photo in which his thighs were spread with his red high heels solidly on the ground. The position gave a clear view of his red stockings and lacy garters, the straps that attached it to his garterbelt tantalizingly disappearing under the white fabric. If one looked  hard enough, they would catch a glimpse of the matching red panties he wore underneath. Crowley’s winged eyeliner intensified the wickedness in his unshielded amber eyes, and his red painted lips were just barely ajar, his chin tilted up and at an angle. The top of the costume was unbuttoned enough to reveal his enticing collarbones, and his free arm draped over his head behind the perfectly pinned nursing cap. </p><p>His heart beat wildly in his chest as he selected the photo to send to Aziraphale, and he could only imagine those intense blue eyes pinning him down with a gaze alone, clouded with lust and filled with such warmth they made Crowley sweat. He stood and kicked the heels somewhere across the room (what Aziraphale didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him) and paced impatiently, chewing on his lip. The response came so quickly he leapt to snatch his mobile off where he’d tossed it on the bed, laughing and feeling quite self pleased at Aziraphale’s response. </p><p> </p><p>I’ve never disliked the nature of your career more than in this moment. </p><p>
  <b>Oh? Y? </b>
</p><p>Because I find myself struggling with the idea of sharing your attention. Surely no matter of terrible illness permits someone else to deserve that sight? </p><p>
  <b>I assure u, Dr. Fell, my attentions r entirely urs</b>
</p><p>Of course they are. You’re such a good boy for me, Anthony.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley was unable to suppress the shiver that rocketed from the base of his spine to the root of his skull. He bit his lower lip and rubbed his legs together in a natural chase for friction against the swelling between his legs. Anyone else who said his first name might get dragged within an inch of their life. It reminded him of a time where he was unwanted. A nuisance. But when <em> Aziraphale </em>said it, it sounded holy. Like a precious thing that was to be revered and beloved. Crowley’s mind started to grow heavy and clouded, and he moved to lay on the bed, his calves and feet dangling off the edge. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>I can b even better. Show me where it hurts?</b>
</p><p>Good boys earn their rewards, darling.</p><p> </p><p>Something that was half a breathless laugh and half an embarrassingly broken moan escaped Crowley, and he shimmied the skirt higher, sliding his hands into the sorry, straining excuse for underwear, taking himself in hand, and starting up a slow stroking rhythm. Again, he imagined Aziraphale before him, legs crossed in an armchair with his reading glasses in hand, appraising him like a newfound tome. Crowley lazily rocked into his left hand, chin pointing up as his eyes fluttered closed and he released sighs at the ceiling. The chiming of his mobile alerted him that he’d gotten a bit lost in the fantasy. As his mutated pupils ran over the words he’d been sent, he sounded a shaky gasp, the thrill of wanting to please Aziraphale pounding arousal through his veins:</p><p> </p><p>I don’t believe I gave you permission to touch yourself. </p><p> </p><p>His shaking hand left his cock, and he released a petulant whine as the elastic of the panties snugly settled against the shaft of it. He typed out and erased several responses: something about Aziraphale being psychic, taunting about how if Aziraphale wouldn’t get him off he had to do it himself, coaxing him into punishing him. But here it was, this dynamic that, in his filthier fantasies, had left him unsatisfied without the doctor present, growling out commands of how and when and where he should touch himself. The dynamic that had him wanting to sneak into the blonde’s flat and cook him breakfast and earn that pride and praise that had become more addictive than any drug. The dynamic that made him feel protected and wanted and <em> valuable </em>when he knew so well he was undeserving of all those things. </p><p>His heart raced so fast it was dizzying as he settled on the response he knew was right. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>How can I please you? </b>
</p><p>Oh, sweet thing. You’ll do as I say? </p><p>
  <b>Yes </b>
</p><p>I shall be very disappointed if you cheat. </p><p>
  <b>Won’t cheat. Won’t disappoint. Like I said, I’ll be so good 4 u</b>
</p><p>Precious darling. What an obedient little thing you are. </p><p> </p><p>The anarchist inside Crowley thrashed and howled, but the complex, wounded animal beneath perked its ears in cautious interest. He bit his lip. Many had tried to tame him before. All had failed. But no one- <em> no one </em> before Aziraphale had made him <em> want </em>it. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Only 4 u</b>
</p><p>I do like to hear that. Will you work yourself open for me, darling? Only that. </p><p>
  <b>1 sec</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The redhead clumsily flipped off the bed and crashed to the ground in his scramble to get to his bedside table. He pulled out the drawer, arranging the lube and a few different options of toys on the bed before crawling onto the duvet beside it. He unsnapped the garters from the garterbelt, ungracefully twisting on the mattress to yank off the panties and hissing at the cold air that hit his swelling arousal. Perhaps it was preferable to the unforgiving tightness of the prison it had been subjected to a moment earlier. He thought to stroke himself before remembering he’d been told not to. With a thorough application of lube to his fingers, he crawled to arrange himself back against the headboard, bending his knees up towards his shoulders and moving his hand to tease around the tight ring of muscle that formed his entrance. He bit his lip and rested the back of his head against the headboard. </p><p>Crowley didn’t like much about himself. He couldn’t find many things to be proud of, if pressed. But he’d always found a remarkable companion in his imagination. Unpleasant situations could be escaped with the right daydream as a gateway. Good situations could be made even better. Currently, it was Aziraphale’s fingerpad pressing patterns against him. Aziraphale drawing sighs and quiet moans from him as he sunk a digit inside. Aziraphale so quickly finding the perfect rhythm, the exact spot that made Crowley’s vision go black. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine, was it? After all, Aziraphale always seemed to know exactly what he needed, and the fact was simply proven when he checked his mobile. </p><p> </p><p>I hope you know, darling, I hope you have the slightest idea of the magnitude of my longing to take care of you- to bring you immeasurable pleasure. You deserve all the tenderness mankind is capable of giving. All the reverence the universe invokes from the soul. I wish to convince you that the stars overhead pale in light of what the heavens in your eyes inspire. I wish to stake my claim on every freckle the sun dared to kiss onto your skin before me. I wish to press my mouth in the divet between your clavicles- do you know how it taunts me?- and to know how it tastes there when you sing out my name. You deserve all of it and more, Anthony. </p><p>
  <b>Angel fuck i need it</b>
</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t enough, Crowley knew it wasn’t- but how was he meant to respond to that? He’d never received a bloody love letter before. Especially not in the middle of sexting. He’d expect the tenderness to kill the mood. Instead, the exact opposite reaction was inspired. His heart beat faster, he moaned louder, body aching for more inside, for Aziraphale to fulfill his promises. </p><p><em> You make me feel adored. No one’s ever done that, </em> he longed to text back, <em> Won’t you worship me? </em></p><p>His hips rolled hungrily down on two fingers now, and he panted and growled in frustration. It wasn’t enough, he needed more. He needed Aziraphale’s strong, thick body wrapped possessively around him, holding him like something precious as he rutted into him. Golden eyes fluttered shut, and Crowley did his best to imagine it. His body was wracked with hot, pulsing desire. So demanding. It wasn’t buying what his mind was selling, and he found himself angry that, in his anticipation, he wasn’t loosening as quickly as he’d like. He remembered to check his mobile again, the moments of lucidity growing farther and farther apart. </p><p> </p><p>Not to worry, dear. I know exactly what you need. </p><p>Will you tell me the words I think of to describe you? </p><p>
  <b>Uh h, sexy? </b>
</p><p>I somehow doubt I’d share that in conversation. It’s a bit obvious, I’d think. You can do better than that.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley took a long pause, tears pricking at the edges of his eyes. He knew the right adjectives, but they were too much. They were all words he didn’t deserve. He was panting for air between his moans now, and imagined Aziraphale’s messages whispered against his ear in a husky, starved voice. It gave him the motivation to dare to try. Aziraphale saw bravery in him. Perhaps he could manifest it into being. He bit his lip, his thumb shaking as he typed and fought against every self-destructive instinct thrashing in his chest. The excitement and arousal drove through the discomfort of it all like a train through a brick wall. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Sweet? </b>
</p><p>Absolutely- so very sweet. Wonderful, my precious darling. Keep going. </p><p> </p><p>A thrill shot through Crowley’s chest, and he was desperately pressing down against his fingers now, letting out pitiful little whimpers every time they drove into his prostate and shot stars through his vision. </p><p>
  <em> See? I’m good. I can be so good for you, angel.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Charming</b>
</p><p>The most.</p><p>
  <b>Clever</b>
</p><p>Dangerously, aren’t you? </p><p>
  <b>Devilish</b>
</p><p>Yes, I’m growing quite fond of that one despite myself. </p><p>
  <b>Good? </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck, too much</b>
</p><p>Not enough, I’d say. That hardly scratches the surface. Is it good for you, darling?</p><p>
  <b>So good. So fucking good, angel I want it to be you</b>
</p><p>I’m rather jealous of whatever toy’s taken my place, I admit. </p><p>
  <b>Just fingers.</b>
</p><p>How many?</p><p>
  <b>2</b>
</p><p>Add another. How will I ever fit inside you at this rate? </p><p>
  <b>Eahufjk;sjl</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Aziraphale</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Fuck</b>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m so tight, so tight for you</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Want you so bad</b>
</p><p>Send me a picture. </p><p>
  <b>[Sent: Picture] </b>
</p><p>Lovely. Now send me one of your face. </p><p>
  <b>Nooo Imma mess</b>
</p><p>I wasn’t asking. Behave. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley was a writhing heap of frustration, now, angry at the angle of his tiring wrist. Every hormone in his body wildly raged in protest, but he gave his wrist a break despite them, flopping his arm weakly overhead as he flipped on his front facing camera. He immediately felt a stark embarrassment that he was about to share his appearance with Aziraphale. His pupils were so dilated that his coloboma was hardly visible. He was flushed a bright pink hue beneath his freckles, and the ridiculous costume cap was knocked astray atop his head. He nearly wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth but knew he’d get punished in a less-than-fun manner if the blonde picked up on his cheating. Maybe he’d stop playing all together. That made Crowley’s defiant streak dissipate into thin air, and he snapped a picture of himself. The authenticity of it- the fact that it was so debauched without him staging a damned thing- was so lewd that he shivered and his cock gave a start as he sent it.</p><p>He trudged past the embarrassment of the event, snatching up a toy that likened Aziraphale’s thickness the closest and lubricating it thoroughly before working the head of it slowly inside himself. The lean entirety of his body writhed at the intrusion, free hand winding into his own hair as he thrashed his head back and cried his partner’s name into an empty room. His knees spread further, feet sliding up and down on the duvet and toes curling and flexing as the toy was pressed in all the way. He’d only barely started up a slow rocking rhythm when his mobile tone sounded out. </p><p>He jumped, so lost to his fantasy he forgot he’d been in the middle of sexting. The pounding of his heart in his slim chest skipped a few beats when he realized Aziraphale was calling him. Was he in trouble? Did he dislike the picture? </p><p>“Angel,” he greeted breathlessly after bringing the mobile to his ear.</p><p>“Did I put you in that state all by myself, darling?” answered a low voice, gravely with sleep and lust. </p><p>A thrill trickled through Crowley, and he bucked down against the toy more roughly, eyes rolling back in his head as he imagined it was Aziraphale. </p><p>“Yes! Yes! All you! Fuck, <em> Aziraphale,” </em>he cried, his musical moans that traveled up and down in pitch earning a deep one in turn. Aziraphale was imagining him back. And if that wasn’t enough to drive him wild, nothing in the world could.</p><p>“You’ve been so good for me darling.” </p><p>Crowley whined in response and paused, shifting to kneel on his knees and sink back down onto the toy. </p><p>“Ngk! Ah-angel, you’re so big- so good- so- ah-ha!” </p><p>“You’re so tight for me, Crowley. It’s like you were made just for me.” </p><p>A happy hum escaped the redhead as his partner played along, and he took it as permission to drive fully down onto Aziraphale’s cock. His eyes rolled back and his rhythm grew erratic, each descent coiling pleasure tighter and hotter in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>“Oh, <em> Anthony, </em>those noises. You sound like bliss incarnate.” </p><p>“Aziraphale,” Crowley sobbed, losing himself to desperation. Tears welled up in his eyes, beginning to pool over. His throat constricted. It almost felt real. He felt so wanted. If he tilted his head and squinted, it almost looked like</p><p>
  <em> Love. </em>
</p><p>“Are you crying, dear heart?” Aziraphale cooed through his own heavy breathing. </p><p>“No,” Crowley pouted the lie. </p><p>“Do not lie to me.” The voice went ice cold, shooting hesitation through Crowley’s body.</p><p>No follow up. It was a reminder, a warning, and Crowley lost himself more as he rode down, wrist shaking. </p><p>“Yes,” he whimpered, sobbing again, “I can’t help it. You’re so good to me.” </p><p>“You deserve it, Anthony. Oh, you feel so good squeezing around me like that. How am I taking you, darling?” </p><p>“I-I’m riding you,” Crowley barely managed out, hardly able to stay present with the pleasure that was consuming him. </p><p>Aziraphale let out an endeared hum that made Crowley’s face grow even hotter. They were practically at orgasm, in the middle of phone sex, and he dared to <em> coo </em> over him as if he was something <em> cute.  </em></p><p>“Are you having fun, darling? I don’t mind letting you pretend you’re in control if you’re enjoying yourself.” </p><p>“Yes, yes,” Crowley hiccuped, “You wouldn’t believe how I can work my hips. Love making you feel <em> so good.”  </em></p><p>A deep moan sounded in response, “And you do such a lovely job of it. Keep going, I know you’re close. Take what you need. Can I come inside of you?” </p><p>“Yes! Please! Aziraphale! Angel!” Crowley sobbed into the mobile, losing himself to the euphoria shooting through his body on every thrust. He was shaking now, gasping a string of all sorts of mindless profanities and pleads through the mobile to his partner. </p><p>Vaguely, he was aware of Aziraphale’s moans on the other line. Then for a reason he could not explain, they were more distant, falling away. When he came to after coming untouched, he realized it was because he'd fallen, sprawled out on his side, his mobile dropped several centimeters in front of his face as he heaved for air. It took several moments of patience to regain his vision and his breath, and he picked up his mobile, flopping onto his back and laughing in wonder. </p><p>He had <em> never </em> orgasmed like that from phone sex. Fuck, he could count on his hand the amount of times he’d orgasmed like that in <em> person. </em>If sex with Aziraphale was a fraction as good as that, he’d indulge in all the time in the world to get to know each other. It seemed the more they did, the more the chemistry between them built. </p><p>Oxytocin flooded Crowley’s system, and he slid towards the headboard, pulling the toy out of himself and wrapping himself around a pillow. He wanted to be held back. He wanted Aziraphale to wrap those strong arms around him. To bury his face in his neck and receive the rain of kisses and downpour of praise he <em> knew </em>the angel would so attentively deliver. </p><p>“Fuck, angel. That- what? How the bloody hell did you manage that?” he laughed through tears, his face wet and ruined with them, eye makeup trailing down his cheeks. </p><p>“I rather think it takes two to tango, my dear,” Aziraphale panted back from the other line, “Bravo. You’ve been so very clever for me. Such a sweet thing.” </p><p>“I think ‘bravo’ is my new favorite thing that anybody has ever said to me after a shag.” </p><p>Aziraphale laughed, “That’s what I’m here for. Post-coital bolstering.”</p><p>Crowley snorted, burying his face into his pillow and feeling a bit of resentment towards the fluff of fabric and stuffing for not being a certain doctor. “Thanks for letting me wake you up.” </p><p>“Darling, you can wake me up <em> any </em>time if that’s my reward.” </p><p>The two shared a laugh, and then Aziraphale’s voice transcended into something softer. </p><p>“Well, you can wake me up any time, unconditionally. I want to be here for you, Crowley. You can always come to me. I could never see you as a burden.” </p><p>Crowley smiled and hummed, standing and setting Aziraphale to speakerphone as he undressed, yanking off the cheap cum-stained costume, using it to wipe off his belly, and figuring it could go straight in the bin. He was a bit more careful with peeling off the lingerie. A hunt began for more something warmer and more comfortable. </p><p>“Starting to believe that, I think.”</p><p>“Good.” A pause. “May I have a picture?” </p><p>“After you robbed me of one?” Crowley pouted, glaring broodily at his laundry basket before diving into it. </p><p>“Oh, yes. How beastly of me. We can trade. A truce, perhaps?” </p><p>The redhead at last dug out the Oxford sweater he’d stolen from Aziraphale the last time he’d been over, slipping it on and perching on the edge of his bed as he took him off speaker again. </p><p>“Alright, but just because I’m feeling merciful- and you owe me a dick pic.”</p><p>“Ha! ‘Merciful’, indeed. Goodnight, Crowley.” </p><p>“Goodnight, angel.”<br/><br/></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * * <br/><br/></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Mmmh… I take it you’ve been informed,” croaked a weary voice through Crowley’s mobile. </p><p>Golden eyes rolled upwards behind their shades, giving the late-November sky an incredulous glare. Crowley set the groceries down on the fire escape in an effort to relieve himself of uncomfortably pinching his mobile between his shoulder and ear.</p><p>“‘Course I have. There’s not a bloody thing that happens in that hospital that I’m not informed of. Can I come in?”</p><p>“You’re… here? You left in the middle of a shift?” Aziraphale sounded mildly surprised.</p><p>“Don’t exaggerate, angel. An hour into my shift. Stopped home to change and ran to the market. Just- we can talk about all that later. I’m not going to play the, ‘ohhhh was just strollin’ through the neighborhood,’ song and dance. You’re sick and I’m taking care of you.”</p><p>“That’s very sweet, darling, really, bu-” </p><p>“Hold it there. This is non-negotiable. Hard to do from the fire escape, though.” </p><p>“Oh-,” Aziraphale paused to release a painful sounding cough, pitifully attempting to clear his throat afterwards before trudging forth, sounding even weaker than a moment before, “let me-”</p><p>“No, no. You stay put. Just figured that for once I’d ask permission rather than forgiveness.” </p><p>“For once? Is that truly such a rarity?” </p><p>“You have no idea.” </p><p>Aziraphale sounded a disapproving noise of appraisal that made Crowley’s stomach flutter. He pulled the mobile away from his ear, tapping the end call button before shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. The door was locked, of course, so he got the fun of a challenge. With a step back, he surveyed the side of the building, scanning to find a mode of entry. He already knew the shop front was locked. The windows accessible from the fire escape had locks on them too. His eyes trailed farther down. Perhaps the ones out of reach wouldn’t have the same security. </p><p>Crowley crawled over the iron banister, wondering if Aziraphale would let him set up some plants out here to spruce the ugly urban space up a bit- make it more homey and comforting to match the inside of the bookshop and flat. He pressed his back against the bricks, running his heels along the 10 centimeter jut of ledge underfoot until he reached the next window sill. It was only a single story drop, if he fell. Nothing he wouldn’t survive. He arranged his long fingers against the glass of the lower pane and pushed up, feeling a mixture of pleasure and concern when it gave way. </p><p>After ungracefully clambering in through the window and shutting it after him, Crowley found himself in the library. He mindlessly walked through the flat, quite familiar with it after the several weeks of frequenting, and unlocked the back door to retrieve his things and groceries. </p><p>Before setting to diligently nursing Aziraphale back to health, he decided an exam was in order. The moment he entered the bedroom, his heart ached something fierce in his chest. Aziraphale was restlessly settled on the bed, terribly pale and shivering like a leaf in the wind. His eyes were closed in some desperate attempt for reprieve, but Crowley could tell he was in immense discomfort from the crinkle between his brows and the slight grimace on his lips. The redhead struggled to free his feet from his boots and crawled onto the bed, making his way to sit near Aziraphale’s waist and feel his forehead. A frown pulled at the corner of his mouth when he felt the heat radiating from the doctor’s clammy skin, but he fought it, wearing a look of calm collection and comfort, similar to the one he wore for patients.</p><p>“Oh, my poor angel. Bad day, eh? It’s alright now. You’re in good hands. I’ll take care of you.” </p><p>Blonde lashes parted to reveal blue eyes, dulled from illness and slightly damp with a helpless emotion that only ailing terribly can incite. Aziraphale let out an airy laugh that turned into a cough. “I despise that I’m looking so miserable for you.” </p><p>“You could never look miserable to me,” Crowley sighed, pushing his fingers through thick white curls. It must have felt nice, because Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed. Perhaps many people might have said such a thing with a careless lack of true intention. An easy lie meant to appease their significant other. Not for Crowley. He meant every word. He wanted to see every version of Aziraphale. He wanted to see his aches so he could soothe them. He wanted to see his sadness and be his rock. He wanted to see his anger and reassure its justification.</p><p>“You could get sick,” Aziraphale argued weakly.</p><p>“Well then,” Crowley hummed, offering his most charming grin as he massaged the scalp beneath his fingertips, “It’s a good thing my boyfriend’s a doctor, innit?” </p><p>He leaned forward to smooch Aziraphale’s forehead. The doctor managed a frail smile in turn, taking his hand away to hold to his chest. </p><p>“Did you break my door down to get in here?”</p><p>“Wha- who do you think I am? The bloody hulk? No, came in through the window. You really ought to put locks on those. I won’t be able to sleep at night thinking of you alone here without them.”</p><p>Aziraphale gave a confused frown, rolling his head to angle towards Crowley and shifting uncomfortably. “There are locks on the windows.” </p><p>“Not in the library.” </p><p>The pair stared off for some time. Aziraphale grew a great deal more restless before hopping onto the soapbox and blustering, “You <em> climbed in </em>the library window? Why must you be inclined towards these ridiculously reckless tendencies? You say you’re worried as if you have a leg to stand on! Honestly, Anthony-”</p><p>“Ah ah ah!” Crowley interrupted. Both he and Aziraphale looked surprised that he’d mustered the audacity to do as much in the face of the blonde’s disappointment. He barrelled on before he lost the nerve, “I’ll remind you that I <em> did </em> ask, and you <em> gave </em>me permission!” </p><p>“Yes, but-”</p><p>“Didn’t you?”</p><p>Aziraphale pouted, and the redhead quickly decided it was one of his favorite things to incite. Not that he wouldn’t have to be careful chasing after it, he didn’t want to <em> genuinely </em>let down or upset his angel. </p><p>“Yes,” he ceded at last.</p><p>“Good, besides, I do it all the time. You don’t have to worry. Falling from that height isn’t even really dangerous.” </p><p>Aziraphale’s weary gaze turned blank. Warning gnawed at Crowley’s guts. He knew he was in for it now. “You break and enter all the time?”</p><p>“Not like that! Not in <em> occupied </em>spaces; my lot and I go urban exploring sometimes.”</p><p>He was greeted with a confused, tired look.</p><p>“Abandoned and condemned buildings. We break in and check ‘em out. Weiss takes pictures. Bea tries to hunt for ghosts. ‘S fun and harmless,” Crowley supplied.</p><p>Disapproval flashed quickly across Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley instinctively started to duck his head in shame.  “<em> Harmless? </em>“Please tell me you’re joking! They’re empty for a reason. I hardly think it’s safe to go forcing your way in-”</p><p>Crowley braced himself, setting his jaw and feigning all the assertive confidence he could before interrupting again..</p><p>“Enough of that, angel. You have more important uses for your energy than fussin’ at me. There’ll be time enough for that when you’re better.” </p><p>Aziraphale closed his mouth, suspiciously eyeing Crowley up and down. He had plenty of reason to be curious. Crowley’s attitude was largely out of character where he was concerned. </p><p>“You’re awfully bossy this morning.” </p><p>“What, you didn’t get the memo? I’m in charge, today.” </p><p>The blonde slowly grinned, raising a brow in amusement and using a gravelly voice they both knew was dedicated to teasing Crowley to challenge, “Whatever would possess you to believe such a thing?” </p><p>Crowley huffed and squirmed, adjusting where he sat and pinching the fabric of Aziraphale’s sleep shirt to rub between his fingers. Perhaps the blonde wouldn’t notice his blush were he to avoid his gaze. He made a series of stammering noises until he regained his footing, took a deep breath through his nose, and braved blue eyes once more.</p><p>“Because you’re sick. I’m going to nurse you back to health,” he said haughtily, adjusting his position so he was lounged beside his partner, nose inches from Aziraphale’s face in a botched attempt at being domineering. Aziraphale grinned, seeming to find it endearing anyhow., “And as you know, I take my job <em> very </em> seriously. Interference won’t be tolerated. So- none of your <em> tricks </em>today, Dr. Fell. Try as you might.” </p><p>“Hmm. If you say so, darling.” </p><p>He was simply entertaining Crowley’s whims, and they both knew it. That was fine, it made Crowley feel special, really. Aziraphale was so good to him. </p><p>The redhead delivered a quick peck to that perfectly pointed nose before leaning back and smiling in satisfaction. “So, have you eaten today?” </p><p>Aziraphale practically turned green at the mention of food- something Crowley had never imagined he’d witness- and released a pitiful groan. </p><p>“After being up all night fetching up I don’t want to look at food.” </p><p>Crowley let out a sympathetic hum, running his hand comfortingly up and down Aziraphale’s upper arm. He really was burning up. “How about liquids? Been drinking anything?” </p><p>He was greeted with a guilty look and rebutted it with a warm, consoling smile. </p><p>“Not to worry, angel. We’ll get you sorted.” </p><p>The slender figure crawled off the bed, going to the kitchen where he’d settled all his things. The kettle was quickly put on and Crowley put some of his ingredients away in the fridge. Best to focus on getting liquids in Aziraphale first and coax him to eat later. The map of the kitchen was committed to memory now after cooking several meals in it; he found he liked to come do things for his boyfriend. </p><p>Aziraphale, like many doctors, was very forgetful when it came to basic details. He’d leave half-empty mugs abandoned on every surface, forget that laundry didn’t magically sort and hang itself, eat copious amounts of take out when remembering he had to eat instead of having the foresight to get groceries. Crowley liked to take care of those little details, to ensure Aziraphale never so much as realized he’d overseen them to begin with. It made him feel good, deserving. Aziraphale took such good care of him- made him feel so wanted and special; it was nice to be able to take care of him in turn. </p><p>He readied some ginger tea and orange juice, making his way back to the bedroom and trying not to feel guilty for waking Aziraphale from his snoozing. Gentle reassurances were cooed as he helped him lean up to drink, patiently allowing him to pause but starting up gentle bullying when he attempted to stop altogether. A cool washcloth was intermittently pressed to his face with gentle murmurs of “I know, angel, I know” as the doctor shuddered from the combination of the towel against his fever sweats and shivering. Crowley didn’t let up until both drinks were wholly consumed before finally letting the blonde flutter back off to sleep. </p><p>With that taken care of, he made his way around the apartment, popping in his headphones to jam to some tunes as he collected dishes to wash up, vacuumed, wiped down the counters, did Aziraphale’s laundry, ironed and hung the clothing afterwards, and did some meal prep for the rest of the week, intermittently sticking his head into the bedroom to check that his man was still fast asleep. The last occasion in which he did so, Aziraphale jolted awake, looking a bit green as he struggled to sit up and look around. Crowey rushed to grab the bin and bring it to him, perching on the edge of the bed as the blonde heaved. </p><p>“There you are. It’s alright. I’ve got you.” </p><p>He stroked the white curls again, waiting until Aziraphale had gotten it all up before fetching a damp cloth to wipe his face and mouth. </p><p>“Better?”</p><p>Aziraphale struggled to regain his breath between dry coughs, giving a pathetic little nod and loosely clutching Crowley’s wrist. “Much.” </p><p>“Right. Let’s try eating then?” </p><p>A reluctant groan sounded in response and Crowley nodded in understanding, fingers rubbing soothing circles into Aziraphale’s back. </p><p>“Okay. We’ll get you hydrated first. Do you want tea, juice or water?” Another groan. “C’mon, angel. Don’t be difficult. We’re getting fluids in you one way or the other. So what’s it gonna be. Down the hatch or IVs?” </p><p>“What are you going to do, steal a drip treatment from the hospital?” </p><p>“Already have,” Crowley stated. Aziraphale opened his eyes to clock Crowley’s devilish grin, turning his head towards him. </p><p>“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”</p><p>“Aziraphale. C’mon. When have I ever lied about my antics?” </p><p>Aziraphale let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “How have you never been written up for abuse of hospital resources?”</p><p>“That would require being caught,” Crowley pointed out without a care in the world.</p><p>A scoff. “I believe I’ve caught you <em> twice </em>now, darling.” </p><p>A toothy, devilish grin crossed Crowley’s face, and he tilted his chin, quirking his eyebrows as he teased, “What are you going to do? Tell my supervisor?” </p><p>Said supervisor had no retaliation prepared, and so Crowley stood, returning to the dining room table where he’d dumped his duffel to dig through and find the bag of prepared fluids. He moved aside his change of clothes, feeling a bit of anxiety work up. It’s not like he was <em> planning </em>on staying the night. They’d never spent a night together at all. He’d never been invited. But if taking care of Aziraphale meant staying, he would be glad to do so. Not like he hadn’t been dying for an excuse anyways. Tomorrow was Wednesday. No work. They could spend the whole day together. He pushed the thought away, arguing with himself that he was here for his boyfriend, not his own pining desires. </p><p>He grabbed the materials he needed, re-entering the bedroom and taking a painting down to hang the bag on the nail there before setting out the rest of his equipment on the side table. Quick work was made of sanitizing his hands and arranging Aziraphale’s arm before he instinctively applied the tourniquet and snapped on gloves. He grabbed the alcohol wipe and swabbed over the back of Azirpahale’s hand, gliding his thumb over a protruding vein before removing the cannula from its packaging. Golden eyes flickered up to find an open, curious blue pair looking at him as if he was the most beautiful thing in the world. He had no idea what he’d done to deserve it but smiled anyhow before looking back to his work. </p><p>He uncapped the needle, stretching the skin of Aziraphale’s hand before murmuring a mindful warning of, “In we go.” </p><p>The blonde didn’t so much as wince as Crowley inserted the device, released the tourniquet, and removed the needle, carefully recapping it to dispose of later. He felt those lovely eyes on him as he applied dressing and flushed the cannula and couldn’t bring himself to imagine what was going on in the mind behind them.</p><p>“What made you decide to be a nurse?” </p><p>That had been unexpected. His eyes returned to Aziraphale’s, and he took care not to freeze the way his instincts told him to. Oh, he looked so eager to know, like ancient knowledge would slip from Crowley’s lips at any moment. The true story wasn’t so lovely. It was dark and ugly. But Crowley knew their relationship well enough after almost two months to know Aziraphale could tell when he was lying. He came up with a somewhat relevant truth instead. </p><p>“Oh, y’know. It’s a secure job. Money’s not bad. As long as there are people, there’ll be nurses- at least until an android is made to take my place, but hey, I’ve made it twenty years. Just need to make it twenty-three more,” he mused as he arranged the entry line and started the fluids. A quick look back to his partner revealed doubt, and he shrugged, “I guess after, y’know, my childhood, a job that could offer stability was too appealing to pass up, and I’m glad I took it. By and large, things have been good since then.”</p><p>A bit of guilt ate at him for playing the ‘sad foster kid with a troubled childhood’ card, but it was a handy one. Finished with his work, he turned back to Aziraphale, who was looking at him with soft concern. He didn’t buy it, not all the way, but enough to make him look like he wanted to wrap Crowley up in a tight hug and protect him from the world forever. Crowley wanted that, too. Desperately. To keep on under the deception that he was something precious, worthy of love and protection. It made the redhead’s heart flutter in excited adoration, and he took Aziraphale’s free hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over thick knuckles. </p><p>Slowly, Aziraphale smiled, “I hope I can win you over enough that you’ll give me the real story, someday.” </p><p>Crowley feigned innocence, pouting a bit, “What, you think I’m lying?”</p><p>The blonde lazily rocked his head side to side where it was anchored on the pillow. </p><p>“Of course not, darling. But it’s hard to ignore the factor of that bleeding heart when you wear it on your sleeve so obviously.”</p><p>Crowley tried to stifle his grin, making a show of huffing out, “Rubbish. We’ll pretend that’s the fever talking.” </p><p>Aziraphale let out a noncommittal, amused hum, closing his eyes and settling back in to attempt to sleep. Crowley retrieved his headphones and mobile, popping in his earbuds and opening a streaming app to watch shitty reality television as the doctor slept, but the form beside him couldn’t seem to settle. He pulled the headphones back out. </p><p>“Can’t sleep?”</p><p>“No, I’m afraid my mind’s had its fill of that. It’s not an occupation I’m ever able to do for long.” </p><p>“Want me to fetch you a book?” </p><p>The blonde coughed and shook his head, closing his eyes, “The world’s spinning a bit much for that, at present.” </p><p>Crowley took a moment to switch apps, “Alright. I think I know a podcast you might like.” </p><p>“A what?” Aziraphale sniffled, burying his face in the pillow. </p><p>A snort escaped the man sitting, and he shook his head in disbelief. Surely, even if Aziraphale refused to catch up on modern trends, all of Brighton couldn’t be years behind as well. </p><p>“A podcast, angel. It’s like a radio show, but you can listen to it independently whenever you want. They have ‘em on all kinds of topics. Bea and I do one, actually. I think you’ll like this one I follow. A couple of ladies that read different old short stories. Most of them are ridiculous.”</p><p>“Isn’t that essentially a book on tape?” Aziraphale asked dubiously. </p><p>“No, there’s commentary and discussion.”</p><p>“That I can’t respond to?”</p><p>Crowley sucked his teeth and swatted at a thick thigh, “Would you just trust me?” </p><p>Aziraphale seemed to settle after that, and Crowley laid down next to him, scooting close before unplugging his headphones and playing the podcast, reaching over Aziraphale to set his mobile on the side table. It was true- he might get sick, but the nurse sincerely doubted it. With his job, he’d developed quite a resilient immune system. He rested his hand on the broad chest beside him, rubbing soothing circles into it and feeling pleased when he heard ragged breathing even out the slightest bit. </p><p>They chatted just a little bit while listening, laughing together at appropriate moments and making their own fun of the more bizarre stories. Crowley was pleased to know that the majority of stories were so bad, Aziraphale hadn’t indulged in any of the author’s works. After two and a half episodes, he was calmed enough by Crowley’s ministrations that he slipped back into sleep. The redhead unhooked the finished IV, pleased to see a bit more color in Aziraphale’s cheeks, and left the bed to finish his earlier activities and start the process of making chicken noodle soup from scratch. It was just now getting dark, and he was hoping that the liquids had the blonde feeling well enough to try eating again. </p><p>Upon finishing the dish and bringing it to the bedroom, setting Aziraphale back on pillows Crowley had meticulously fluffed and arranged, giving him painkillers, and encouraging him to finish the bowl, he found he was right. He’d only run to the kitchen for a brief moment to wash up the dishes, but by the time he washed his hands and returned to the bedroom, the blonde was fast asleep yet again. </p><p>He dutifully took his position next to him, returning to watching shows and switching over to Vikings once he grew bored of watching vapid people’s screaming matches. Occasionally Aziraphale would thrash and groan, likely the victim of fever dreams, and Crowley would wash soothing circles over his chest again, satisfied to watch him settle. He found himself relaxing, shifting to lay next to his partner and switching to podcasts so he might close his eyes as he continued brushing his hand over the soft flesh, soothed by the strong beating of Aziraphale’s heart beneath his fingertips.</p><p>“Crowley, darling, I do believe it’s about time for you to wake up, you great lazy thing.”</p><p>Were it not for the gentle hand slowly sliding over his back, Crowley might have been incredibly startled at being woken up by Aziraphale, but one slow inhale of vanilla, bergamot, and jasmine, and he was soothed. He cracked his eyes open, squinting at the unforgiving sunlight and marveling that he’d slept despite it. </p><p>Slept.</p><p>He rocketed upright with a sharp inhale through his nose and a bleary gaze, hair sticking up in a ridiculous direction that made Aziraphale snort and grin. </p><p>“Fuck- sorry I didn’t mean to- to spend the night. Shit.” </p><p>Aziraphale’s face fell, and Crowley felt his heart jump, eager to take back whatever he’d done wrong. To make it right. The blonde recovered, looking more observant than sad as he cleared his throat. “My apologies. If I’d have known you had no interest in staying over, I would have woken you earlier.” </p><p>“It’s not- no, I- fuck,” Crowley groaned in frustration at his own tired mind, the gears of which weren’t turning as fast as he needed them to. He scrubbed his hands over his face before dropping them in his lap and looking down at them, anxious to bear his heart, “I did- do- <em> have wanted </em>to stay over, just- only if you wanted that, too.” </p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale brightened considerably where he stood next to his bed, smiling warmly before leaning down to kiss Crowley’s cheek, “Well, I’ve wanted that as well, so it seems that’s sorted.”</p><p>Crowley smiled at him, raising a fist to rub at his left eye and taking Aziraphale’s appearance in. He had showered, was freshly shaven, and wore clean clothes, dressed for the day save for shoes. The color had returned to his face and the healthy gleam was back in his eye. “You’re lookin’ chipper. Feeling better?” </p><p>“Yes, just a bit achy,” the blonde gave a quiet laugh, sitting on the edge of the bed, hip-to-knee with Crowley, and indulgently brushing his fingers over the skin at his waist where the redhead’s shirt had ridden up, “Thanks to the efforts of my wonderful nurse, I believe, and don’t think your other acts of kindness have gone unnoticed, either. You’re so good for me, darling.” </p><p>The redhead beamed, a thrill of pride fluttering through his chest, and felt quite appreciative of the sweet kiss he was rewarded with. Then Aziraphale’s face fell the slightest bit, and Crowley raised his hand to brush against his cheek. </p><p>“Hey, now. Where’d you go, angel?” </p><p>“Oh I...  am simply wondering if I’m wicked for denying you a proper repayment.” </p><p>Crowley frowned at the insinuation, shaking his head. </p><p>“Relationships shouldn't be transactional.” </p><p>They both were a bit surprised at the words, and Crowley ducked his head shyly but didn’t take his gaze away. He scooted over a bit so Aziraphale could turn towards him on the bed, enjoying the feeling of those thumbs rubbing into his hands’ pressure points. The blonde waited for him to continue. He measured his breaths for a few moments, until he felt able to expand in a proper way.</p><p>“What I’m tryin’ to get at is that I didn’t take care of you because I expect anything in turn. I did it because I… <em> care </em> about you and the idea of letting you suffer alone was unbearable, and as much as I love the idea of getting to finally be with you sexually, I certainly don’t want it because you think you <em> owe </em>it to me. When we do that, it’ll be because we both feel the timing’s right. You want to get to know each other, and I want that too. In the meantime… well, the anticipation might drive me bloody bonkers, but I’d reckon that’ll just make it more exciting when the wait’s over. And in the meantime, I’d say our phone sex is nothing to scoff at.”</p><p>A slow, honest, adoring smile bloomed on Aziraphale’s face, and he tugged on Crowley’s hands in a silent request. Crowley was more than happy to comply, crawling into his lap and preening as the older man pressed several warm, reverent kisses up his jaw and one to his mouth.</p><p>“I most wholeheartedly agree,” he hummed, “and my, how insightful and clever of you to say so.” </p><p>“Yeah well,” Crowley gave a nervous laugh, raising his fingers to do jazz hands, “Therapy.” </p><p>“That’s right,” Aziraphale noted, smiling as he nuzzled under Crowley’s jaw and pressed more soft kisses to his neck, strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him into a possessive hold. The redhead felt he could practically start purring from the onslaught of affection. He knew it was too soon, but he couldn’t help but feel that he wished to wake up to this every morning. </p><p><em> Getting too attached, you shouldn’t do that </em>, he noted somewhere deep within his subconscious. </p><p>The reemergence of the blonde’s voice pulled him a safe distance from that anxiety, “I take it that means your new doctor is doing well for you?” </p><p>“Mmmmh,” Crowley confirmed, “Just been a few sessions now, but I really like her. She’s a bit snarky, which is great. Has a good sense of humor and a good head on her shoulders and isn’t afraid to call me on my shit. Plus she makes me… well, she makes me feel good about myself.” </p><p>Aziraphale pulled back and gave him a soft, emotional, elated smile that was so bright Crowley wished to bottle it up and save it for a rainy day. He even looked a bit misty eyed from the powerful wave of happiness the words incited, and Crowley found himself a bit choked up, too. “Oh, my darling, it’s wonderful you’ve found that. You deserve it, you know. You deserve the world. You’re such a treasure. A clever, good, lovely person.” </p><p>Crowley bit his lip, swallowing the lump in his throat and tilting their foreheads together. He felt heat rise to his face, and he closed his eyes and took a few grounding breaths before batting his red lashes open to gaze into crystal blue pools. </p><p>“You make me feel good about myself, too.” </p><p>Now Aziraphale was <em> definitely </em> tearing up. He looked so proud. Whether it was of himself for getting Crowley to feel that way or of Crowley for saying something so markedly astray from self-depreciation, the redhead didn’t know. He only knew he wanted to make Aziraphale this happy- this <em> proud- </em> every moment he could manage. He laughed and wrinkled his face as he was squeezed and received an onslaught of kisses rained all over his face. </p><p>“I’m so terribly happy you feel that way, Anthony.” </p><p>Crowley couldn’t stop himself from grinning wildly, bumping Aziraphale’s nose with his own, “You’re a big ol’ sap, y’know that?” </p><p>“I believe that makes two of us.” </p><p>After indulging in several minutes more of cuddles and kisses and praise and marveling at how certainly Heaven had made a mistake in sending him Aziraphale, he at last decided to relieve his partner of his morning breath and went to retrieve his toothbrush, razor, and the change of clothes from his bag. After cleaning up for the day and throwing on his athletic clothing, he stopped halfway back to where his bag was deposited.</p><p>“Awh, bugger,” he complained, noting the time on his mobile. Aziraphale hadn’t been exaggerating; it was nearly eleven. </p><p>“What’s wrong, darling?” Aziraphale fussed, setting down his book where he’d settled on the sofa. </p><p>Crowley flapped a hand at him dismissively. “Nothin’ big. Missed yoga. They’ll probably let me credit it, though.”</p><p>“You practice yoga?” </p><p>Aziraphale’s tone was so surprised that Crowley couldn’t help but snicker and grin at him. They really were learning so much about each other- even the big things were still coming up. He’d never taken things slow like this before, and on one hand it was killing him. On the other, it was… nice, almost more intimate somehow, to get to know each other in this way.</p><p>“That’s a bit of an understatement. Can’t believe I haven’t told you. Advanced classes three mornings a week and my own routines the other four. Gotta keep this arse heavenly enough for an angel’s liking somehow. Is that so surprising?” </p><p>The blonde laughed and shook his head, “No, I suppose not. I had wondered how you stay fit, and I certainly didn’t peg you as a cardio-fanatic.”</p><p>“Ha! Got me there. You couldn’t <em> pay </em>me to run. Don’t think I remember how, I mean- in a horror setting? I’m the first one going down. No contest. But this- well, bit of a yogi, me.”</p><p>Intrigue scribbled across Aziraphale’s features, as if he found something missing in the equation, ”Isn’t yoga meant to help with anxiety?”</p><p>Crowley snorted, smile growing toothy as he grabbed a foot behind his back and stretched his leg. “Yep. That’s why I’ve been doing it twenty-some years. This is me with my anxiety ‘managed’. You can imagine what a bloody wreck I must have been before starting. Have to do it every day to maintain it, and it really does help. No skipping. So, guess I’ll just have to give you a show- if you’re amenable to hosting me more of the day, of <em> course.” </em></p><p>“My darling,” Aziraphale began, eyes growing soft and genuine as he stood and approached, hand reaching out with all the caution in the world to caress the all-too-enticing curve at Crowley’s waist, “You’re always welcome here.”</p><p>Crowley smiled, returning his foot to the floor to guide Aziraphale back to his seat.</p><p>“All too happy to be invited, angel. Now sit back and enjoy the view. You’ll find I’m <em> very </em>flexible.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think the “L” word is starting to pop up in the boys heads ;3 (lesbians). This was my first time writing sexting/phone sex, I hope it was okay!</p><p>Enjoy the fluff, the angst train is calling all passengers for hurt/comfort central! I’m the meantime have this great TikTok of Crowley when the Golden Girls theme comes on (and Bealz in the bg) https://vm.tiktok.com/JFYXukU/</p><p>Today’s rec is one of my all-time faves, a lot of you already know it! It’s Dark Angels, Golden Serpents by KiaraMGrey. A WIP in which Aziraphale is a renowned and feared crime lord. Crowley, a low-ranking member of a rival organization, gets in trouble with his employers and unwittingly seeks refuge with Aziraphale, who grants his protection. This is a truly fantastic dom/sub dynamic and a surprisingly cute love story that I got way too invested in. I hope you love it as much as I do!<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919025/chapters/57515608</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: blood, marijuana, drug use mention</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Ay-Ay-I don’t want a lot for Christmas </em>
</p><p>
  <em> There is just one thing I need </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t care about the presents </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Underneath the Christmas tree </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I just want you for my own </em>
</p><p>
  <em> More than you could ever know </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Make my wish come true-ooh-ohh </em>
</p><p>
  <em> All I want for Christmas </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Is… yoooooOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUU </em>
</p><p>There was certainly some demonic energy about the way Beatrix fervently tapped the volume button on their phone to turn Crowley’s sound system on full blast in tandem with the song’s increase in tempo. With a deep, chesty breath, they shouted over it, “HAPPY CHRISTMAS, BIIIIIIIIIITCH!”</p><p>The slender figure shot upright, red locks stuck in a fashion that left him quite likening an angry cockatoo, glaring at Bealz through bleary, squinting eyes. </p><p>“Fuck off!” he growled, barely audible above the thumping stereo. No doubt there’d be noise complaints from neighbors. If they called the bobbies, Bealz would consider their mission accomplished. Crowley disappeared back under his thick duvet, curled into a tight ball. A mangled myriad of unintelligible noises were pulled from him as the blankets were torn away, and the petite figure hopped to leer over him, playfully slapping at his cheeks.</p><p>“No sleeping! Christmas! No sleeping! Christmas!” Bealz chanted, bouncing their feet on either side of his waist. They were done being the only one awake. </p><p>“Then <em> turn it down!” </em>he hissed, wrinkling his nose at them in clear contempt. </p><p>They complied with a snicker, bouncing once more with a soft landing, cross-legged, beside him. </p><p>“What time is it?” the redhead whined pitifully, rolling onto his back and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The amber pools squinted out the dark window, as if wondering if they’d somehow mistaken the sky as black. </p><p>“Four,” they supplied energetically.</p><p>Another glare, redoubled in its efforts.</p><p>“Why do you hate me?”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>“Then <em> why would you wake me up at four?”  </em></p><p>“‘Cause! Work at seven! ‘Ave to do your bendy tree-humpin’ rubbish and take a shower first.”</p><p>The glower didn’t let up, he did his best to deliver it with only one eye cracked open. “Yeah. And what’s the other hour and forty minutes for?”</p><p>“Dunno. Was tired of bein’ alone. Finished my game. We can get breakfast?”</p><p>“Where? No where’s open.” </p><p>“You can make me drop scones and bacon,” they hummed, looking quite pleased.</p><p>“That’s not <em> getting breakfast, </em> that’s me <em> making </em> you breakfast!” Crowley hissed. </p><p>“Right!”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Bealz’ expression drooped, and they slouched down, a wounded expression masterfully occupying their features. He was soft; It would work. They used a small voice, giving a pitiful murmur of, “It’s <em> Christmas.” </em></p><p>Crowley fixed them with a long appraisal, inhaling deeply before letting out an inhuman string of grunting and growling entirely unique to him. He rolled from the bed, feet falling heavily to the hardwood floor. No lack of groaning was spared as long fingers pressed him up from the cozy edge, abandoning promises of warmth and comfort behind him. Bea cheered happily, trotting behind him. </p><p>“Yoga first,” he drew the line, meandering into the office he used as an indoor studio and plant space. Albeit, there was a desk tucked away in the corner with a PC Bealz updated to suit the newest specs every Christmas, throwing in several games to force Crowley to stream with them.</p><p>They shrugged as if it made no difference, but quirked their head as he laid out a mat they hadn’t seen before. “That’s new. That the expensive one you’ve been harpin’ ‘bout? ” </p><p>He squinted at them through exhaustion before following their gaze. </p><p>“Yeah. ‘Ziraphale got it for me as a Hanukkah- Christmas- dunno, ‘holiday’ present,” he grunted, shaking out his limbs over the mat.</p><p>“Before or after the two of you went prancing around town handing care packages out to the homeless?”</p><p>“After,” Crowley provided matter-of-factly.</p><p>“Hm,” Bealz snorted, shrugging a shoulder, “‘s a nice enough gift I s’pose.” </p><p>“Oh he got me way more than that. A mat bag, oil diffuser, a monthly plant subscription… went mad with it. Chag sameach, bitch.”</p><p>“Generous, hm? That or you’re just a spoiled brat.”</p><p>Crowley sported a toothy grin.</p><p>“Two things can be true. Bet it was ‘cause of the ‘lone orphan’ business. Hate bringin’ it up to him. He just gets so sad, looks at me like I might break,” he huffed, flopping down on the mat and crossing his legs one way, rocking back and forth on his sit bones, and then switching them the opposite way and testing the balance again.</p><p>Bealz smirked back. It was interesting, seeing their dear partner so infatuated in a romance. Sure, Crowley had fixated on certain people before, but he’d always been so steadfast and stubborn in his ways. The moment the person insinuated he could change, be more trusting, confide more, they were sent packing. With Aziraphale, he leaned into it so eagerly. Opened himself up and held his hopes and dreams out on a platter. Bealz was equally surprised at the behavior as they were that they weren’t finding themself worried over it. It was nice to watch their most precious person fall in love. It had never looked like this before, and the picture being painted left quite a lovely scene in its wake.</p><p>“Told ‘im already? Should’ve held onto that card. Played it when you got into your first kerfuffle.”</p><p>Crowley’s head shot upright, and Bealz found themself fixed with anxious yellow eyes. Fuck. They should’ve known better. They didn’t betray their apprehension, but did give a great roll of their eyes and huffed a laugh. “I’m jokin’. Sure he’d never let that happen. Besides, you seem <em> far </em>too excited to please ‘im, doubt you could ever get into a spat. Every time you see him it’s like a pup doin’ tricks to get its master’s praise.”</p><p>That seemed to get their friend out of his own head. He huffed, turning a stark pink, and glared at them. “Any way I can convince you to shut it or do you intend on prattling on through my whole routine?”</p><p>Bealz gave a coy shrug, and Crowley sucked his teeth, standing to exit the room and approach the tree the pair of them had set up near the fireplace of his flat. “Will opening a present early distract you?”</p><p>“Yes!” They eagerly responded, trailing after. </p><p>He rolled his golden eyes, looking considerably put-upon as he snatched up a small rectangular package and tossed it to them. They ripped it open like a feral animal, giddy as a child when they found a copy of Amnesia: Rebirth in their hands. Only somewhat subconsciously did they notice Crowley’s fond gaze as they ran into the other room where they’d left their switch earlier that night. </p><p>They were mostly transfixed in their game for the next hour, though they idled occasionally in the doorway. Beatrix was firmly against the touchy-feely nature of yoga, but they secretly liked to watch Crowley do it. Sometimes, he’d do a session, and they’d turn their nose up thinking about how, well, <em> they </em>could even do that. Other times, he’d twist himself in impossible positions  or balance on one hand, legs perfectly poised overhead, his breath even and his limbs without the slightest tremor as if it was the most natural thing in the world. It was a special kind of beauty, and they were glad to witness those moments.</p><p>After several minutes, he was doing that thing he always did at the end- that laying-flat-on-the-ground thing, and Bealz’ stomach gave a defiant growl on cue.</p><p>“Breakfast?” they chirped.</p><p>He didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge them, the only noise escaping him the deep inhales and exhales.</p><p>“Breakfast! C’mon, then! Christmas! Drop scones and bacon! You promised!”</p><p>He glared at them with one open eye.</p><p>“You’re not going to let me finish shavasana, are you?” </p><p>“Shuh-what-uh-nuh?”</p><p>A long noise of frustration escaped him before he caved, standing and spraying his mat down before wiping it up and rolling it. “You’re such a bloody child.” </p><p>Bealz chased him towards the shower, enjoying the rest of the morning after he emerged. They marked the occasion in the same secular fashion they always did. Every year, the both of them would sport ridiculous, ironic, <em> hideous </em> Christmas sweaters. Every year they’d work, giving the staff that had family a chance to enjoy the holiday. Every year they’d stay up all night after their shift, exchanging an ungodly amount of gifts, ordering a ridiculous amount of an assortment of takeaway, and watching classic, kitschy Christmas films. </p><p>The pair had taken Bealz’ motorbike to work at their insistence, arriving to a less busy day than they’d expected. With most folks remaining at home, they only had a few cases to manage. Some gangrene here. Some frostbite there. An ice skating accident or two. Hardly any action in the trauma department. For the most part, Bealz got to sit in their office, on call, and enjoy their new video game. At last they got called down for an amputation consult, and passed by Winger and a couple nurse’s combined efforts to restrain a highly distressed and likely high as a kite Father Christmas while Crowley shouted at them. They should listen, they noted to themselves, intrigued that the staff hadn’t yet learned that what he had to say mattered. </p><p>They were resigned to ignore it until the man clad in red escaped the increasingly persistent hold and swung a hard blow to Crowley’s chest. Bealz mind went black. They didn’t recall rushing forward. They didn’t recall ducking a fist, they didn’t recall clenching their own and delivering a fearless punch to Father Christmas’s nose. They didn’t recall shouting, “Wanna have a go, yeah? Wanna bloody spankin’? Yeah!?” </p><p>But Crowley scooped them from beneath their arms the moment he regained his breath and slung them around with ease, giving them a gentle shove in the opposite direction before howling, “SHUT IT,” and effectively ceasing everyone around him mid-action. </p><p>“You’re scaring him! Let him go!” he growled. The nurses and doctor stared at him, dumbfounded, only complying when he hissed, <em> “Now!”  </em></p><p>They did, and Father Christmas had tears in eyes that were now locked with Crowley’s and running deep with fear until the redhead cautiously approached with hushed murmurs of , “It’s  okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry they scared you. You’re alright. We’re here to help.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” the man sobbed, realizing his mistake as he was given room to calm down. Beatrix took their own space, realizing they were far too eager to swoosh in and make his face a bloody, unrecognizable mess for hurting their person. They took deep breaths, reassured by Crowley after a moment that no one would report them and the patient promised he had no interest in pressing charges. A Christmas miracle, perhaps. Crowley wasn’t as merciful with his scolding, powering through despite his labored breathing. With the fear that they’d lose their license slipping from their mind, Bea moved bays after receiving their reprimand, tending to Dr. Fell’s frostbite victim who they had come down for to discuss amputation.</p><p>They moved away later, waiting to fill out the needed segments of the chart with Dr. Fell, who had cornered Crowley off into an empty bay to fuss over the brightly flowering bruises on his chest. They didn’t mind the wait. As well as they disguised it, they themself were worried for their partner’s health and pain. Crowley refused medication. Of course he did. </p><p>“That was one impressive left hook. You sure can pack a punch,” mumbled a low, intrigued voice from over their shoulder.</p><p>They turned and grinned when they found Dr. Winger watching them, one brow raised over violet eyes. </p><p>“Oooh, yeah. Had a lot of practice. Kickboxing three times a week.”</p><p>Gabriel grinned. It was interesting. For so many years, they found the expression worthy of a punch. Nowadays, they didn’t find it the slightest bit irritating. They were growing rather fond of it, in fact. Perhaps some of it had to do with the fact that he was behaving in a much less obnoxious manner. Months ago, he might have gone straight to Godfrey to report them, hoping they’d lose their license. Huh. He really was much less of a wanker than he used to be.</p><p>“Remind me not to get in <em> your </em>way,” he said.</p><p>“Better not. Knock you on your arse, Winger,” they teased, playfully pivoting their fists before delivering a gentle knock to his chin with their knuckles. </p><p>“Such promises of violence. On <em> Christmas, </em>no less?” he asked, scandalized.</p><p>“Hmm, I perhaps I’ll grant you mercy- as a gift.” </p><p>“Oh good, I’m the better gift-giver. Had to find an upper-hand somewhere, I guess.” </p><p>He’d gotten them a gift? They cocked a brow at that. </p><p>“Ain’t you busy? Shouldn’t you be home, visiting your folks- y’know- ‘across the pond’?” they asked, curiosity overwhelming.</p><p>“Well. Y’know. Mom and sister are visiting. Dad and brother didn’t bother.”</p><p>Bealz snorted, raising a dark eyebrow, “They came all the way here and you ran off to work? What? Didn’t wish to entertain?” </p><p>“Was it that obvious?”</p><p>His smile widened, eyes shining with affection. It cut Bealz deep. Always did- the soft folks. They hated it in a way, that they were only weak to the most vulnerable of souls. On the other hand, if there was anyone deemed safe to show their soft side to, it was them. Not that they’d ever <em> vocalize </em>that Anthony and Gabe were sorted into the same group on the subject. Neither party would enjoy that assessment, no matter how accurate. But he’d gotten them a gift, and that was a surprise. Perhaps his affections weren’t so shallow as they were pretending. Perhaps they were denying him, driving him to knock more fervently at the door. </p><p>“Are you two quite done flirting?” Crowley snipped. Both the physician and surgeon rolled their eyes. But they <em> were </em> done, for the time being, and so continued their day. Bealz changed mindlessly into scrubs, wrapped on their raccoon-and-garbage-patterned surgical cap, washed their hands for five minutes, and allowed rubber gloves to be snapped onto their hands. </p><p>Then they were in surgery.</p><p>Then another.</p><p>Then they breaked to take their medication, munching on doritos and throwing back an energy drink.</p><p>Then their third and final surgery.</p><p>Then their twelve hours were up. They gathered their bag, jacket, and motorbike helmet, arriving on the first floor and barely stepping toward the A&amp;E before their attention was summoned. </p><p>“Excuse me,” called a petite voice.</p><p>Bealz stopped cold in their tracks. They hated that they were weak to the whims of effeminate women, but therein lied the truth. A black brow raised, and ice blue eyes ran down the length of the tall woman's body, and then back up. She had generous curves, and Beatrix did well in concealing their appraisal of them, returning to find wide brown Bambi eyes piercing into theirs. A shimmering green box wrapped in a matte crimson ribbon was trapped between her sharp, glittery red manicured nails.</p><p>“Can I help you?”</p><p>“Yes, thank you! No one stops around here. Do you happen to know which office belongs to Gabriel Winger?”</p><p>That brought pause. The goth stood there, suddenly feeling quite short and small and scrawny in comparison, with too much of some parts and too little of others, drowning in their ‘Hail Santa’ parody sweater, and looking up- so far up- at the beautiful dark-haired woman. Bealz stood awkwardly with the discomfort of the unfamiliar sensation. This didn’t happen. Ever. The badass Beatrix Bealz was <em> not </em>insecure.</p><p>“Uh- old patient? Child of one? He save your mum’s life?” they asked generously. <em> Too </em>generously, they knew.</p><p>The lovely woman smiled. She looked like one of those women on those ridiculous soap operas, Bealz noted. Too tall. Too charming. Too <em> effeminate. </em></p><p>“Oh no,” she hummed, so chipper as she perked upwards, “I’m his girlfriend!”</p><p>That thing in Beatrix’s chest. The one that pumped about fifty-five beats per minute, so relaxed, the one that measured easily against the slow rhythm of their working lungs, took a deep and sudden plummet into unknown depths. That place it went was dark and mysterious. Damp and unknown. Cold and unfeeling. </p><p>“Go around this way,” their voice carried. Their mind followed afterwards, scarcely noticing the obstruction as a shaking finger raised to point down the wrong hallway. “You’ll know the door when you see it.”</p><p>The woman gave them a curious look, but didn’t find the will to argue, smiling and throwing a sickeningly sweet, “You’re such a dear heart, ta~!” in their direction while stilettos even higher than the ones Bealz wore clicked and clacked, echoing down the corridor. </p><p>Blue eyes, along with the heart that resided below them, grew cold. Bealz turned starkly on a studded, strappy black louboutin heel, rushing back towards the direction of the A&amp;E physicians office. Dr. Fell’s was closed, Crowley not within it. As such, Beatrix paid no mind, instead setting their black helmet upon the floor and fishing through the confines of their dark leather bag to find a thick, red sharpie. They uncapped it before viciously scribbling on Dr. Winger’s door.</p><p>Time passed- who were they to give a shit how much?- before Crowley approached, smiling so warmly as he hummed, “Watchya up to?”</p><p>His smile faded as he took in the view. The words weren’t fully bolded as Bealz was after, but clear as day they read:</p><p>
  <b>Bullshitting Wanker</b>
</p><p>They stepped back, gaze locked, and turned sharply towards the parking garage, scooping up their helmet on their way. </p><p>“Is everything alright?” Crowley’s voice crackled in a low, nervous voice. They heard. They didn’t pay mind; the answer didn’t suit this place. Didn’t suit most places. </p><p>“No,” they answered at last, their response so late it hardly sounded before they reached the motorbike. They mounted it, shoving in the keys and roaring it to life before looking to Crowley. He stood to the side, the epitome of cautious anxiety. Bealz ignored the stark guilt gnawing at their insides. Wasn’t <em> their </em>fault he couldn’t fucking suck it up. “Are you staying or are you going?” </p><p>With a moment of looking like his heart was stuck in his throat, he shoved on his helmet and strapped it before mounting the bike behind the smaller figure. They felt him scratching at their waist as they rocketed off and reveled in the sensation. It made them feel alive, and more than that- it made them feel <em> needed.  </em></p><p>They stopped sharp next to the curb before their favorite rage room, shutting the bike off and hardly allowing Crowley time to dismount before climbing over it themself, hand stopping short on the door. They gave it a jerk. Another. No purchase. They shook it. Harder. Kicked it. How could they be closed? On this day? This shitty <em>fucking </em>day? That so many, more than just them, wanted to scream and curse and <em>break and shatter shit </em>during? They must have been screaming out loud, based on the way Anthony’s face turned stark white, his expression hesitant and terrified. He looked around, as if for danger, seeking a trigger. Seeking a way to diffuse. To <em>peacekeep. </em>That’s what he was- a peacekeeper. Bealz was not.</p><p>They gave a growling shout at the closed door before disappearing down an alleyway, on a mission.</p><p>“Trix?” Crowley asked, looking casual as he sauntered after them. He wasn’t. Anyone who knew the way his throat was constricted through the speech or who noticed the way his shoulders were drawn inward, making himself a smaller target, would know he wasn’t a fraction as laid-back as he hoped he appeared. Beatrix would throw themself into an active volcano before hurting him, that much was clear, but he knew what an explosion could look like. </p><p>Bea didn’t- <em> couldn’t- </em>afford an answer, huffing air angrily through their nostrils as they grabbed a long plank of wood and circled back to the shopfront. </p><p>“Beatrix, no!” Crowley barely shouted out, fingers twisting in his hair before Bealz screamed like a bloody banshee. That’s what they felt like- an abhorred, widely-feared, misunderstood <em> cryptid </em> as they destroyed the front windows. They smashed them into pitiful little shatters, and hardly for the desire for what lie within. All that existed in the confines of the small business were frivolous items: antique cabinets, useless dishes, nonfunctional electronics, glassware- all ready for the breaking. That’s all Bealz wanted. To break something. They did. They broke <em> so much. </em>All before stumbling clumsily to the ground, sobs ripping past their throat. </p><p>Soon, thin yet toned arms were wrapped around them, holding them tight as Crowley buried his face into their dark locks. He remained silent. He knew better than to do otherwise. Better than to mutter his ‘it’s all right, it’ll be okay’s to <em> them </em>of all people. They hated that shit. Hated placation.</p><p>“What happened?” He asked, voice cracking in the process, and Bealz found the question fair.</p><p>“Winger said he would never bullshit me. Never pity me,” they growled before a sob wracked their tiny body, “He <em> lied. </em>I don’t- I don’t know why I believed him so much. It felt… it felt different. I really thought he liked me. I should know better. I should know that’s not possible.” </p><p>They practically felt as Crowley’s brow furrowed against them. </p><p>“Of course it’s possible. He even had me fooled. Followin’ after you like a lost puppy. What did he do?” </p><p>“He’s dating some broad out of a James Bond movie,” they spat, looking down at where their foot was bleeding, cut by the fallen shards of glass. </p><p>“You talked about it?” he asked so ignorantly, “You had a discussion about exclusivity?” </p><p>Bealz face twisted in anger, and they pulled away from where he clutched to their arm, snarling at him, “Whose side are you on?!”</p><p>He started, deeply wounded by the sentiment. Wetness crawled to the borders of his eyes, and Bealz felt self-hatred- their oldest companion- encroaching upon their heart. </p><p>“Yours. Always yours,” Crowley breathed, desperately returning his hands to where they clung to the thin arm, fingers digging in deeper, and nuzzling behind their ear as if he was afraid they would shove him away. Bealz felt sick to their stomach and wrapped a begrudging arm around him. Taking it out on him was so cruel. So beneath them. He was far too easy a target. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Tony,” they mumbled after a time. He grunted a noise of assent that implied an easy forgiveness they were sure they didn’t deserve.</p><p>Silence passed for several seconds, until the redhead found resolve enough to manage the situation the way in which he knew his partner needed it to be handled.</p><p>“Fuck him, yeah? You can be angry at him tomorrow. Or- what? You going to let a wanker like that ruin our traditions?”</p><p>Bealz, at long last, found it in them to give a weak smile, pressing a loose kiss to Crowley’s temple. “No. I’ll text the owner and send someone to repair the windows first thing. Plus send over a generous Christmas bonus with the additional gift of him never needing to see me again. Let’s go home.” </p><p>Crowley smiled back, and Beatrix <em> wanted </em>to be annoyed at the concern laced through his eyes. How could they be? They’d likely scared the shit out of him. After this, he deserved an extra good Christmas with his feet up, even though it’d likely be stressful watching Bealz attempt to tidy up (they always did it wrong). The pair stood, and Bealz mounted the bike and roared it to life, allowing more patience this time for the taller figure to get on behind them. </p><p>They couldn’t think of anything better on this shitty day than taking Crowley home, stuffing him full of food, opening crackers, drowning him in gifts, making s’mores with him in the fireplace, and giving him extra cuddles and attention. In the morning they could set out early for boxing day, round two of spoiling Crowley silly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * * </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“No! You were checking that woman out! This has happened before, I’m not dumb!” </p><p>“That’s not right, love! I only have eyes for you!” </p><p>Bealz watched the man berating his wife from where they stood, perched against a building and bumming off another club patron’s joint. The couple’s spat evolved into a full blown spectacle, and as it descended into its most chaotic point, the woman ashamed at being the recipient of unwanted attention, the husband stormed off. His wife was pretty, with wide, intelligent eyes filling up with tears and dark brown arms hugging herself over her tight, shimmering blue clubbing dress. Bealz handed off the joint, and slipped in beside her, trying not to stagger too much in their cross-faded state. They marked the New Year holiday with impossibly high suede burgundy stilettos, a studded collar, a black leather suspender skirt over a longsleeved fishnet shirt and black bra, all topped off with a dark red fur coat. Black feathers hung from their ears.</p><p>“You alright?”</p><p>The woman looked over at them with wetness building on her lower lashes, flashing a strained yet grateful smile and jerking her head. </p><p>“Yeah he can just… be such a <em> prat.” </em></p><p>“Why don’t you let me help you forget? Most effective way of dealin’ with prats, I find. Lemme buy you a drink?” </p><p>Bealz didn’t hide the flirtation or interest, and soon was earning a more honest and intrigued smile before they found themself yanked away by the wrist. </p><p>“Find yourself someone else to help you cheat. This one’s taken.” </p><p>Bealz turned, confused to hear Crowley’s voice. But there he stood, decked out in his finest clubwear for new years, a snarl on his face. Bea had seen those golden eyes enough to know that they were shooting daggers from behind Dolce &amp; Gabbana sunglasses. </p><p>“Don’t grab people, wanker! Or shall I call security?” the woman snapped at him. </p><p>A black-nailed hand waved dismissively at her and Bealz laughed, “Not a wanker. Just a drama queen. I’m sure you understand. Husbands, am I right?”</p><p>Crowley scoffed, releasing their arm and turning sharp on his booted heel to stalk away down the walk. The petite figure frowned, throwing a farewell over their shoulder and rushing after him, all focus devoted to not falling on their face, to grasp his hand. “Oy. You cross with me?”</p><p>“Yes,” he snapped, yanking his hand away. It sent little pins and needles prickling through Bealz’ heart. Their partner was a slut for physical affection. If he denied it, they knew he meant business.</p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“Well, I’d hate to be a ‘drama queen’ about it,” he mocked in a nasally tone, wrinkling his nose and curling his lip as he flicked his hands outwards at either side of his shoulders. Bealz withheld pointing out that at present, he was being <em> very </em>dramatic about it. </p><p>“Then go spend New Years with your boyfriend. Bet he’d love to see this performance. It’s <em> so </em> flattering.”</p><p>Crowley stopped short on the sidewalk, flipping around and promptly exploding at them. </p><p>“I would have <em> loved </em> to spend tonight with Aziraphale, but no! I turned him down to spend New Years with <em> you, </em> like we have for the last twenty seven years until <em> you </em>blew me off tonight!”</p><p>Bealz snorted, rolling their eyes. They knew acting dismissive wasn’t the proper way to handle him when he got emotional, but they were too drunk to be sensitive at present.</p><p>“I <em> told </em>you I’d met you at The Apple at 11:30.” </p><p>Crowley stopped, standing up straight and delivering a gaze void of all emotion.</p><p>“Beatrix. It’s 2:30 in the morning. I’ve spent three hours hunting you down. The crew’s out lookin’ in other districts. You weren’t answering your phone. We were worried we’d find you dead in a dumpster somewhere.”</p><p>They frowned and stumbled a bit as they felt around their body for their phone. </p><p>“That can’t be right,” Bea insisted, black locks flopping through the air as they aggressively shook their head. No way it was that late. That would mean they’d stood him up. They’d never stand him up, “Huh. Lost m’bag.”</p><p>A long, labored sigh sounded from the taller figure, and he rubbed his temples for a moment. When he looked back up at his partner, a calmer if not exhausted and slightly hurt expression was written across his features. “How many drinks have you had?”</p><p>Bealz snorted and staggered again, planting themselves on a lamp post. They began a battle to unfasten their shoes, nearly falling over and smacking their head on the pavement before Crowley rushed forward to support and chastise them. The question popped back into their head and they drunkenly giggled, “A<em> zillion </em>.”</p><p>Another frown before a disapproving, “With your AEDs?”</p><p>“‘Course not. Didn’ take ‘em.” </p><p>A long look, “You’ve been out practicing unhealthy coping mechanisms, chugging depressants to run away from your incredible amounts of stress, and haven’t taken the AEDs to suppress your stress-induced seizures?”</p><p>“That’s about the size of it, yeah.”</p><p>Crowley steepled his hands over his nose and mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. He stood still- too- still, for an inordinate amount of time before finally stating through gritted teeth and a tight throat, “I don’t know what to do, Trix. With this. It keeps happening. You’ve been skipping work. Not responding to your pager. Spending all night out every night and not tellin’ me where you’re going or who you’re with. Doing hard drugs- and not in a way that’s recreational, anymore. I’m… I’m worried. You need to talk to your therapist about this, because it isn’t a healthy or- or okay way to handle things. Not good for you. Not fair to me.” </p><p>Guilt gnawed at Bealz’ stomach, and they frowned, carefully taking Crowley’s hands away from his face and slipping their arms tightly around his waist before smearing their makeup all over the chest of his soft black turtleneck and burgundy velvet, silk-lined blazer. Their speech slurred, “Hey, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been high maintenance lately. Make it up to you, yeah?” </p><p>“I don’t want you to ‘make it up to me’. I’m not a dumb kid you can just placate with flashy objects. I want you to be accountable. Responsible. Considerate. I want you to <em> talk </em>to me and a professional. You owe that to me as your partner.” </p><p>It hadn’t been said in a particularly loud or harsh manner, but Bealz flinched at words that felt like sharp glass, looking at their feet and battling with the lump in their throat. Tch. On the verge of tears. In <em> public </em>no less. They really were sloshed.</p><p>“‘M sorry, Tony. I don’t… I don’t know how to handle this, but the last thing I want is to hurt you. I just don’t know how to get my bloody act together. My therapist is full of it. This whole- this <em> rubbish </em>has made me feel like shit. I don’t know how to tolerate that but to run away. I can’t stop running. Can’t stop fucking shit up for myself and- and I guess for you, too.”</p><p>Another sigh released from the taller figure, this time trickling against the hair over their ear, before long arms wrapped tightly around them. </p><p>“Can we go home?”</p><p>They nodded against him, leaning down to pick up their shoes in their hand and staggering a few steps after him. He slowed, watching them with a raised brow as they giggled to themselves. </p><p>“Woo! This is a trip.”</p><p>He snorted, “you’ve walked three meters. C’mon drunky. All aboard.” </p><p>The pair idled for a moment as Bealz clambered onto Crowley’s back, accidentally smacking him in the face with their shoes and inciting humorous sputtering. “High, too.” </p><p>“Ah, chipper. More downers. That’ll be lovely in the long-term.” </p><p>He hiked them up higher on his hips, letting them have their fun mushing him forward as they made their way back to the shady car park he’d taken harbor in. </p><p>“Never seen you this way after a break up. Not even with- y’know. Voldemort.” </p><p>He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, otherwise known as Bealz’ ex-husband, was by far the most sensitive topic in the pair’s history, responsible for the biggest heartbreak of Crowley’s life and the solidification of his fear of abandonment. Bea was nearly surprised that Crowley had voluntarily mentioned him. The familiar sense of guilt that went along with the subject wracked through their small body, and they tightened their arms around his slender frame, nuzzling their cheek against his ear.</p><p>“Yeah, well. Everyone else I’ve ever been with, I knew it was just pretend, that they would never truly want me for who I was. They let me play house and I was grateful for it. This was… different. Thought it was real. Thought he <em> liked </em>me. Actually. Because of who I was- who I am. But no. Just a side-bitch. Never been one of those before.”</p><p>They felt Crowley hesitate, inhaling as if he was about to speak a few times before he murmured, “What makes you think you were?” </p><p>“Obvious, innit? He gets bored running around with his pretty tall models and then I come along, the perfect opportunity to experiment in poking his toe out the closet without anyone noticing. Unique enough to pretend that his bland arse is interesting by association. A human side-show to distract him from his empty life. A trip to the circus. That’s all.” </p><p>“Trixie…” </p><p>“The worst part- the worst part is there’s nothing to him. He’s just a boring, privileged, pretentious Yank, and I… somehow he got me to <em> give </em> a shit. Made me think he was <em> different </em>from all the other suppressed tossers who enjoyed me dominating them in private and were ashamed of me in public. How bloody stupid am I?” </p><p>“You’re not, Bea. You’re not stupid. I don’t think this is right, though- have you talked to him?”</p><p>“Wha? ‘N give ‘im a chance to bullshit his way out of the doghouse? Nah. Blocked his number. Switched my schedule. Told the doorman not to let ‘im up.” </p><p>Crowley set them down beside his Cadillac, opening the door for them and aiding them in not smacking their head against the edge of it while crawling into the passenger seat. Bealz stared ahead at the concrete wall as he circled the car and slid into the driver’s seat, leaning to buckle them in. </p><p>“I think… I think you’re wrong, Bea. I think you’re just scared of letting yourself be happy.” </p><p>Ice blue eyes appraised him for a long moment before Bealz gave a scoff, “Enough about my love-life. Been a while since we talked ‘bout yours. You’re really starting to like Fell, ain’t you?”</p><p>Crowley seemed to debate allowing them to change the topic, but they both knew Bealz was impossibly stubborn about being pressed in conversations they’d deemed completed. He shyly grinned to himself, shoving the keys into the transition and twisting them to a start. </p><p>“That would be a bit of an understatement.”</p><p>“Ohhh?” they sang-song in a teasing tone, their interest piqued, “Could it be love?” </p><p>A flattering tinge of pink touched Crowley’s face in the dim light of the car’s display panel, and he pretended not to be affected as he twisted his body, arm behind the passenger seat, to back up properly. “You are <em> far </em>too fucked up for this discussion.” </p><p>Bealz could have let up, could have quit. They were far too immersed. </p><p>“It’s sweet, I think,” they hummed, “Usually you only let yourself feel important to someone when they’re fucking you. And here you are letting yourself fall in love when he hasn’t even touched you. Every time you come home from his it’s like you’ve gotten back from one of those granola yoga retreats. Like you feel good about yourself.”</p><p>The hue on Crowley’s face spread like wildfire, deepening to a handsome scarlet. He let out a string of confused grunts and stammers, rushing to shift the gear into drive and slam on the gas. </p><p>“How did you know?” were the first comprehensible sounds that escaped him in succession. </p><p>“‘Bout what?” they hummed, tucking their bare feet beneath their thighs and playing with the sensation of their fingers twisting in the fur of their coat. “You should feel this. It’s like… whoa.”</p><p>Crowley ignored the second statement, “About the- the- that we haven’t-” </p><p>Bealz threw their head back and barked out a loud laugh, “Mate, you tell me <em> everything. </em>Hell, you tell me when you’ve sucked off a stranger at a party. If you’d done anything, I think I would know.” </p><p>A pout started up on that plush lower lip, inciting a grin from the passenger. </p><p>“We- well, we sort of- <em> almost-,” </em>he huffed an aggrieved sigh, “fuck off.” </p><p>“Almost what? C’monnnn, share with good ol’ Trixie, y’know you want to.” </p><p>Slowly, the embarrassment faded and Crowley gave them a sharp, toothy grin, “Gave him a bit of a handjob. Didn’t finish, but <em> fuck, </em> we both <em> wanted </em>me to. And the phone sex is- it’s bloody incredible. Don’t think I’ve ever cum like that from a voice and my imagination alone.”</p><p>“Attaboy,” Bealz bolstered with a laugh, “He got a nice prick?” </p><p>“Oh yeah,” Crowley instinctively slid into comfortable conversation, as if he’d been dying to shmooze over the topic with his best friend, “‘bout average length, but <em> thick. </em>See it in my bloody dreams, swear to- y’know- Somebody.” </p><p>“Cut or uncut?” </p><p>“He’s Jewish, Bea.” </p><p>“What’s that mean?” </p><p>“Cut- should I be talking to you about my boyfriend’s cock?” </p><p>“Dun see why not,” Bea snorted, “So why didn’t you?” </p><p>“Why didn’t I what?”</p><p>“Finish the handjob.”</p><p>“Oh.” </p><p>Crowley paused, looking a bit puzzled as he took a corner hard. They were nearly home now. It took him some time to find an answer, and he shared it as if he was about to instill the most bizarre information Bealz would ever hear in their lifetime. </p><p>“He stopped me. Said- said he wanted to ‘get to know’ me. Keep waiting for him to quit. To fuck me and get it over with and move on. But it hasn’t happened. He seems to… just like being with me. And I like being with him. I think we’re gettin’ there- I mean, it’s almost been three months, you know- but something tells me if I told him tomorrow that I didn’t want to ever have sex he’d… stay with me. Not that I ever would- I’m getting painfully horny, but still, something to try to wrap my head around. It’s just hard to believe that he might actually…,” he lost confidence, faltering at the end, “dunno.” </p><p>“Love you back?” Bealz asked monotonously, rolling their eyes at how impossibly thick Crowley managed to be with the concept that anyone might care for him. He didn’t answer. </p><p>“I like ‘im,” they announced at last.</p><p>Shielded eyes snapped towards Bea, eyebrows shot high above them, “You do?” </p><p>It’s not that Bealz had <em> dis </em>liked Crowley’s past boyfriends and girlfriends. Most of them were alright and didn’t deserve the bad rap Crowley saddled them with. They would be plenty amicable. If asked, Beatrix would have said they were good enough, they’d supposed. The important thing had always been that Crowley was happy and comfortable while it lasted- that he felt supported by the partner that would be with him through his inevitable breakup. </p><p>This time was different. Bealz was nearly as surprised as Crowley appeared now that they didn’t want him to break up. Not this time. They’d never seen him like this. Wrapped up every bit as much in the feeling his romantic partner gave him as in his partner themself. He was being kinder to himself. Whether or not it was to please someone else, Bealz found they couldn’t complain. Sure, it was a clear power dynamic, but Fell was incredibly careful and generous with that power. A benevolent ruler, still so respectful of Crowley’s free spirit. Not infringing on his opportunities, but expanding them. Even more importantly, keeping him safe in the meantime. Bealz wasn’t much for believing in destiny. They believed in manifesting one’s own opportunity. Still, they saw something definite about Aziraphale. They were confident that Crowley had been meant to meet him.</p><p>“Yeah. He’s jealous of me, y’know,” they informed, quite smug over it and not attempting to hide it. They remembered the exchange in the lift of their building. The way he sized them up when they spoke so intimately about Crowley. The way he looked so threatened and battled with himself to be polite despite it.</p><p>Crowley scoffed, one brow lowering, “and that’s a good thing, how?” </p><p>“Well, means he’s willin’ to fight for you. Protect you.” </p><p>A frown replaced the look of amusement. </p><p>“I don’t want him to think he has to feel that way toward you. I… if you’re right and I’m… hypothetically falling... ,” the end of the suggestion was finished with an unintelligible murmur in place of the words ‘in love’, as if their utterance would summon Satan himself and result in the demise of the relationship, “then he can’t be threatened by you. He needs to accept you’re a permanent fixture.”’ </p><p>“Oh, yeah, and hidin’ me away- keepin’ us apart- is such a good way of managing the issue,” they drawled sarcastically, giving a performative roll of their eyes and dropping their chin into their palm, elbow leveraged on the middle console. </p><p>Crowley squirmed in discomfort, visibly struggling not to deny the fact when being called out on his actions. “I just… wanna ease him into it. Don’t wanna chase him off.” </p><p>“You want my advice? Lay your cards out on the table. He won’t run away.” </p><p>The redhead scoffed, “ah yes, and the best time to take advice from you is when you’re absolutely sloshed- and baked, too. Nearly forgot.” </p><p>A brief silence passed between them. </p><p>“Don’t run away this time, Tony.” </p><p>Crowley focused on parking before sitting back in his leather seat and looking cluelessly at Bealz, “What are you talking about? Why would I run away?” </p><p>“You always do, when things get serious. You’re not going to do better than Fell.” </p><p>“Don’t you think I know that?” he snapped in a feral, frightened attempt to guard himself.</p><p>Anxiety buzzed through the car. Potent- like the shift in air before a storm. Crowley fussed over unbuckling Beatrix, only pausing when they grasped his wrist and looked hard into his face. He squirmed under the dominant gaze, lowering his own and biting his lip. </p><p>“You’re wrong. I don’t run away. I’m chased off, but you’re right; Aziraphale’s different. He wouldn’t chase me away. He’d… let me down directly, mercifully.” </p><p>Bealz opened their mouth, prepared to read Crowley for filth. But he looked so nervous since they’d introduced the idea. So guilty and afraid. They closed their lips together into a tight line and let it slide. All they could do was hope he meant it. Hope that he felt differently enough about Aziraphale that he wouldn’t bare his teeth, tuck his tail, and run- so certain that if he stuck around he'd be dropped at the pound to be put down. Beatrix didn’t know Fell well, but they’d seen proof enough to know he wasn’t the abandoning type. </p><p>“He won’t,” they said confidently, “I’m quite certain he’d take a bullet before voluntarily letting you go. ‘Bout bloody time someone saw your value.” </p><p>Crowley gave a weak, besotted smile, snorting and mussing their already-messy black locks.</p><p>“C’mon, you drunken dog, let’s get you in bed.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter should be called "Bealz gone feral", but alas, I am  too lazy for chapter titles. On that note, please see the AMAZING meme my friend made for this chapter here: https://getwrexed.tumblr.com/post/624843827512999936/beatrix-bealz-in-the-most-recent-stitch-me-up</p><p> </p><p>The holidays are always a bit rough for these two. This year's one of the tougher ones ;&lt; Our next one is gonna be a little rough for me, this could mean I'm gonna barrel through it, or it could mean it'll take a little extra time! The updated chapter count is a rough estimate! Still can't believe we're half way through the story. I've had so much fun writing it for you guys!</p><p>Please keep dropping those comments and kudos! They F E U L me!!! </p><p>For this weeks fic rec, I'm gonna go ahead and suggest a pretty new one! You guys know that me and SMU Crowley both are always sluts for period dramas ;P so I'm recommending At the Edge of the World by Thyra279 with art by anthony_crowley, a regency era love story in which Aziraphale is a lieutenant in the Royal Navy and Crowley is a high-end rent-boy! As I said, it's pretty early on in its chapter count, but SO SO promising! And the WRITING is just *grips heart* I would give my left arm to be able to write like this. Please read it, I'm begging you! ;o;<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25192435/chapters/61055824</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can only read this if you PINKY PROMISE not to hate me afterwards! Do you??? Do you promise???</p><p>CW: Anxiety attack, being triggered, mixed episode, unintentional self-harm, bad coping mechanisms</p><p>This chapter puts the "hurt" in "hurt/comfort", just a heads up.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aziraphale had experienced a wonderful life, for the most part. Sure, it was sprinkled with some pain, betrayal, heartbreak, but he had always been one to focus on the positive. To ponder over how he could pay forward the gifts he’d been given rather than mourn the loss of what had been taken. He’d gotten to swim in the ocean the vast majority of the days of his life, cleansing away sorrow and hardship that would otherwise weigh him down. He had a family that accepted him for his sexuality in a generation where parental rejection was the popular trend. He’d only been a member of synagogues with kind, loving, diverse congregations. He’d gone to his dream university and raised up in the ranks of his career quickly, drowning in commendations. He had a salary that left him wanting for nothing and lived above a bookshop that housed all the old tomes he ever could have dreamt of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it all paled in the light of having Crowley in his life. That was the ultimate reward for the way he patiently moved through life, tolerating any pain and unfairness. In fact, he rather believed it was an unequivocal blessing, and he couldn’t imagine what he’d done to earn the affections of the absolute loveliest human being he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair had been in orbit, trapped in one another’s gravitational pull. So much so that they’d begun spending the better part of the week together. So much so that in Crowley’s absence, Aziraphale would be confounded at the manner in which the dishes stacked up and food didn’t appear on the table, the coldness of his bed in the morning and the absence of red locks to stroke as he read. Even then, he’d find Crowley was eager to earn praise despite their distance, sending him pictures all day long before they could even be requested, boasting about how well he was treating himself, how good he was behaving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth was, Aziraphale was in love. Madly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been ready to confess, to make a whole evening of it. Just after Christmas, he’d made reservations at the Ritz (it was ‘their place’, after all), done himself up in his finest suit, and special ordered a bouquet after thoroughly researching flower meanings. Thirty minutes before they were set to meet, he’d gotten an apologetic phone call, in which Crowley informed him he couldn’t make it. It’d been three weeks since then, and he’d only been graced with his boyfriend’s presence four times within that period. Only once on Shabbos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t difficult to discover what had happened. There was something clearly disturbing Bealz, Crowley’s ‘partner’, a relationship that Aziraphale’s ignorance concerning was beginning to plague him with painful paranoia. Beatrix came first, that much was clear. So Aziraphale had abandoned his endeavor for the time being out of fear that he was in solitude with the intensity of his emotions. He knew the general story after attempting to comfort a highly saddened Gabriel Winger. Some secondary school-eque drama about a misunderstanding over an ex-girlfriend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The situation served as a stark reminder that love, with all its soft, warm curves, had a menacingly sharp edge. For the first time in the security of this new relationship, he was reminded of past ones that didn’t fare so well. Boyfriends that had used him for his position and money, cheated on him, hurt him. Crowley wasn’t like them; he knew that. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course </span>
  </em>
  <span>he did. However, for as much comfort as Aziraphale took in knowledge, it did nothing to soothe the whispers of ‘what if’s his subconscious was spouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally, he wished to breach the topic, to ask for reassurances and validation. There was nothing wrong with such requests, he firmly believed them to be a part of good communication and strong relationships, but oh, every time he saw Crowley, he couldn’t bring himself to discuss it. The poor dear was so obviously not keeping away due to disinterest. The door would open and each time he would look at Aziraphale as if he were the sun and Crowley had been trapped in the dark for days. He’d wrap his thin arms around him and bury his face in his neck so fervently that Aziraphale would wonder if he thought someone was going to attempt to tear him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he’d get a good look at him. A bubble swelling with stress and fit to burst, and all he could do was pull him into his lap, order them takeaway, hush his apologies, drown him in affections, and allow the tired redhead, so desperate to switch his brain off, to subject him to television. The pair would entertain easy, trivial discussion and silly jokes. Crowley would fall asleep on his chest. Inevitably, sometime in the middle of the night Crowley’s phone would ring. He’d unwind himself from Aziraphale and answer in hushed whispers before heaving a sigh. A kiss would be pressed to Aziraphale’s head, and in the morning, he’d wake up alone, painfully lacking in cuddly, sleepy koala. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all this time, he hadn’t seen the subject of Crowley’s attention once. He’d asked, uncomfortably aware that Crowley wished to keep him in the dark where Beatrix was concerned, and only been told that they had switched their schedule. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he hadn’t been expecting to find them in the Trauma unit on a Sunday- the very day he’d switched his schedule to since Crowley dedicated that day of the week to quality time with Beatrix. He’d only come up to check for an update on a patient- a young girl who had arrived at the hospital alone and had been very afraid of receiving surgery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Bealz,” he greeted where they were tucking a form at the high-top of the nurse’s station. They looked up at him, exhaustion clear on their features. The typical shadows beneath their eyes were darker than ever, as if they hadn’t slept in days. He’d always thought they looked quite young for their age, but without makeup or rest, they looked properly middle aged. A dark brow was cocked at him and they jerked their hand in a two-fingered salute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you quite well, my dear?” he tutted, tilting his head to leverage them with a sympathetic look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t seem to enjoy it, fixing him with a hard, dark stare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’pose not. Luckily for you, Tony’s decided that’s not your problem.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pardon?” He couldn’t help but allow a frown to tug at the corner of his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fuss your precious southern pansy head ‘bout it. Kind of you to ask, though. Ta, cheers,” they sighed out, slapping a hand down on the counter before turning and making their way back toward their office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale watched after them for a moment, brows furrowed in confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Figured he’d be done with you soon enough,” murmured a voice behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde turned, finding a rather greasy, disgruntled nurse tapping away on the computer behind the nurse station desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I beg your pardon?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That flash bastard Crowley. Sleeps his way through all the doctors, digging for gold and moving on as soon as they catch wise. ‘Course Bealz is their main… ‘Sugar Daddy’ or whatever. Now that they’re back on the market, he’ll likely hightail it before you get ‘im on his shit. You know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assure you I don’t,” Aziraphale responded without the scantest trace of humor or amicability, “And I’d discourage you from spreading such slander any further, lest I need to have a discussion with HR about your future here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse- Hastur, according to his nametag- scoffed and bothered to turn his dark eyes away from the screen to glare at the physician, “That bugger gets away with bloody murder. ‘S not slander. How do you think he affords that flat? That car? Bealz pays for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale meant to deflect the words, but somewhere, in that weak, sore spot already stirring with insecurities, they stuck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe I already gave you a warning, Nurse Hastur,” he growled, although it didn’t come off as assertive as he’d like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse rolled his eyes and sneered, turning back to his computer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was in something of a haze the rest of the day, trying hard to focus on his work. Trying harder to purge the poisonous words from his head. He knew better. Crowley wasn’t the kind of person that would use someone. If Beatrix was paying for his living situation, there had to be a more reasonable explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of his shift, he had settled on a rational course of action. He’d sit Crowley down and share his insecurities. Ask for open communication, some reassurance, ask for help understanding his relationship with Beatrix. If they were this close, he wanted to know them. He wanted to be important to Crowley. He wanted to be a part of his life and experience what he held precious. It was a reasonable next step in their relationship, wasn’t it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was four days before he saw Crowley again, and he couldn’t have been more relieved. With all the ridiculous notions fluttering about in his head, what he truly needed, more than reassurance or conversation or explanation, was just to see his beloved’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment he walked in, taking shelter from the raging blizzard outside, he didn’t have a chance to do so much as stomp off his shoes before Aziraphale lunged forward, slipped off his glasses, slid his hands greedily around his waist, squeezed him forward by the small of his back, and captured his mouth in an indulgent, desperate kiss. Crowley literally swooned into it, falling limp against him and grasping at his shoulders. When they parted at last, the both of them needed a moment to regain their breath. Crowley sported a cheeky grin, wrapping one arm over Aziraphale’s shoulder and rubbing his broad chest with his free hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss me, angel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t an idea.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>idea. You’ve been runnin’ ‘round my head all week,” he hummed, quirking his head and laying a kiss that was something sweeter and more chaste than the first before pressing Aziraphale away with a coy smile, “‘m all gross from work. Lemme shower and change and I’ll make you dinner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale reluctantly released him, but couldn’t help arguing, “No cooking tonight- or cleaning. You must be absolutely knackered. You ought to put your feet up, you’ve been working too hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shrugged, “It’s not a big deal, angel. I owe it to you after neglecting you so much lately.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling, you don’t owe me a thing. Now, what would you like me to order?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Golden eyes flashed up at him appraisingly from where Crowley was sitting at the dining room table, unlacing his shoes. A soft, sweet smile crossed his face, gaze swimming with mad affection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not taking ‘no’ for an answer, then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t believe so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, then” Crowley laughed, kicking the sneakers off and placing them by the front door, “How’s Chinese sound?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely, if that’s what your heart desires. Chow mein?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just have me all figured out, don’t you, angel? Going to spoil me rotten,” the redhead teased, pressing a happy kiss to the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m certainly going to try. You deserve it, my dear” the blonde retorted, shamelessly observing the sway of Crowley’s hips as he meandered to the shower, and then subsequently enjoying the way his darling boy grinned and preened at the attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t bother shutting the door before stripping. Such a wicked little tempter. Aziraphale appreciated the view until the freckled body disappeared behind the shower curtain, taking a moment to will away his erection before dialing the number for the little Chinese bistro around the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The delivery was faster than expected, and by the time Crowley emerged from the shower and shoved product into his hair, an assortment of dumplings, spring rolls, soup, beef chow mein, and coconut curry chicken were already arranged at the table with waiting plates and chopsticks. The redhead happily sauntered over, spilling into his chair and loading up his plate with no shortage of enthusiasm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should go out soon,” he pressed, “Not that I don’t love staying in with you, but we haven’t had a proper date in forever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale suddenly felt nervous butterflies fluttering about his stomach. Perhaps they were moths, on second thought, judging by the way they nibbled away at his edges. He was being silly. Communication was important, and Crowley was the most understanding and docile partner he’d ever had. If he just could breach the conversation properly...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you thinking, darling?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dunno. We could get dressed up and go somewhere nice. Just heard about this high-end Italian place in Mayfair that does eight courses, seems right up your ally.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if,” he found himself blurting, “I couldn’t afford outings any more?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gave him a curious look as he stuffed noodles in his mouth, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully as he chewed. Upon swallowing, he sported a teasing grin, stealing a dumpling off Aziraphale’s plate with his chopsticks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. S’pose I’d need to expand on my cooking abilities. Quit nursing and ship myself off to culinary school to satiate my boyfriend’s hedonistic penchants,” he hummed before popping the dumpling in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So-” Blast it all. Aziraphale just couldn’t wrangle his mouth today. “You’d still want to be with me even if… I wasn’t a doctor?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How insecure could he be? This wasn’t at all the conversation he had so tediously planned in his head. If only he could have written Crowley a letter. That wouldn’t work either. With the combination of his Dyslexia and Aziraphale’s doctor chicken scratch, he’d never be able to read it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley seemed to think they were playing a game, sifting through his noodles to find a carrot as he teased, “That would depend. What are you in this hypothetical? A book keeper? Or are you like, a serial killer? Not that I wouldn’t be gone for your charms either way, but I’d like to know my chances of survival.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amber eyes glanced up at Aziraphale, and upon clocking the distressed look on his face, the cheeky grin faded, falling into concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale, what’s wrong?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” the blonde rushed to assuage, rubbing a temple with one hand and taking Crowley’s long fingers in the other, “I’m just doing a very poor job of starting this conversation. This isn’t what I planned on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Planned on?” Crowley frowned. Anxiety flashed across his features, hardly soothed as his hand was given a reassuring squeeze. “Oh, are we-? er- is this a… a ‘talk’? Are you cross with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale breathed a quiet laugh at the suggestion, sternly shaking his head, “Not at all, darling. I rather think you’d know if that were the case. Please don’t get yourself worked up. It’s just been a while since we had a… a conversation about where we’re at. About the big things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Crowley breathed, suddenly swept up in an air that was much more entranced, hopeful, blinding in its light. He perked up. “I’m- yes, I’m open to that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gratitude thrummed in the physician’s heart, and he slid his thumb appreciatively over the back of Crowley’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was hoping… perhaps we were close enough now…,” he started, Crowley hanging off every syllable, “That you could tell me about the nature of your and Beatrix’s relationship.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The redhead’s face fell completely blank, he started back, blinking rapidly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve told you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. Not really, darling. I know they’re important to you. I was just hoping… wanting, rather, to be trusted with the precious matters of your life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley stared down at his noodles, looking like he’d quite lost his appetite and stabbing them with a chopstick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>think the nature of our relationship is?” he challenged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale raised a brow. It was so rare for him to see this tetchy side of Crowley. It was only ever when the topic of Beatrix was breached. A protective front, perhaps?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t begin to imagine, and I don’t like to assume.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must have imagined something if you’re so bloody curious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A frown pulled at Aziraphale’s mouth, “There’s really no need for that language, dear-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath, feeling backed into a corner, “I don’t know. It was suggested to me that Beatrix helps support you. Not sure I’d believe that, but you haven’t given me much to go off o-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s eyes went wide, and he pulled his hand away, aggressively looking through his box of chow mein as if he would find the end of the conversation in it. His jaw worked before he spat out, “Who told you that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t a credible source, which is why, as I said, I wasn’t inclined to believe it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if it’s true?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amber eyes stared into blue, as guarded as the first day Aziraphale had ever seen them. His heart ached. This wasn’t how this was meant to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anthony-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s face twitched with something like pain, maybe anger, a grimace appearing, and his eyes flashed back downwards, a clear attempt to hide the tears that were building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please. I’m afraid you’re misunderstanding me terribly. I’m not trying to judge you. I just want to know about your life. If Beatrix is so important to you, I’d like to be friends with them. I’d like to understand your bond.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noodles exploded upwards as Crowley smacked the takeaway box down on the table with more force than it strictly required, pushing away the table to turn head-on towards Aziraphale. Clearly, he was refusing to read the message that this was not meant as a confrontation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beatrix and I met at fifteen in a group home. I supported them the entire fucking way through medical school. They were there for my suicide attempt. I was there during their divorce. They have been the only goddamn constant in my whole bloody life. Yes, they support me. We’ve struggled enough that neither of us can bear to see the other want for anything. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>understand it. No one does. Is that a deal breaker for you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Aziraphale sighed, struggling to balance on a tightrope between frustration and heartache. Were this not turning into such a tense discussion, he’d be so grateful Crowley told him. “Crowley, I truly don’t mean to strongarm you into sharing with me. That’s not what I want this relationship to be. I was just hopi-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who-” Crowley interrupted, trying to look assertive. Instead, he looked like a caged animal, surrounded by an army of handlers wielding shock prods. “- told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blonde didn’t know what to do with this argument he’d never expected. His eyes felt wet. He gave Crowley a long, pleading gaze, but the redhead was too far gone. Too afraid. He stared back with a frightened, wild look in his eyes. Feral with fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some ridiculous surgical nurse.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley released a loud, disbelieving, hysterical laugh, staring heavenward and blinking back tears before biting out through gritted teeth, “Hastur, yeah? What else did he tell you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing of consequence- Crowley, I really think we ought to take a step back from this. I never intended-” he slowly edged his fingers to brush against the freckled forearm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was torn from his grasp and Crowley leapt to his feet as if he’d been burnt. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What</span>
  </em>
  <span> did he </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell you?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down, please. There’s no need for this. Everything’s fine, darling. It was just gossip, and if he ever utters another word of it he’ll be finding another job,” Aziraphale pleaded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>some </span>
  </em>
  <span>truth to it! So come on! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Out with it!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t bear repeating. I would never entertain such abhorrent ideas, Crowley.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really going to make me guess?” the hysterical redhead hissed, breathing growing ragged as he paced back and forth, yanking at his hair. “Right. What’d he say? I’m a home-wrecker? A slut? A gold-digger?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something must have changed in Aziraphale’s face, because Crowley laughed again, nails scratching down his arms. The blonde desperately withheld the instinct to rush to him, to pull his hands away and keep him from hurting himself, but he couldn’t help but suspect it would be gravely unwelcome, at present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. Wow- do you- do you believe that?” he half-laughed, half-choked out between gasps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Absolutely not! You’re a good person, Anthony, one that I care about so- </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>dearly! You can’t imagine how angry I was to hear such swill sputtered about you in such a careless, hurtful manner.” Aziraphale did his best to remain calm. It would not help to escalate this situation, no matter how worried he was for his beloved’s condition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley went so still, hands fisted in his hair, that panic set into Aziraphale’s heart. Mutated pupils betrayed the only movement, flicking in every direction as Crowley visibly unraveled. He didn’t move. Didn’t breath, not until Aziraphale made the indication of moving toward him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tall figure leapt away as if Aziraphale intended on hurting him, and tears immediately filled the blonde’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley gave him a quick look up and down, complexion paler than Aziraphale had ever seen it, and rushed off in the opposite direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, where are you going?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t afforded an answer, but followed after the redhead into the bedroom, watching him pull open the drawer that had been dedicated just to him and stuff his things inside his duffel, shaking like a leaf. He was back to the labored breathing, on the undeniable verge of a panic attack. Aziraphale approached cautiously, gently reaching out to still him. “Anthony-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fucking touch me!” Crowley cried, snatching the bag to his chest and throwing himself into the corner of the room so hard it must have bruised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears spilled over now, and Aziraphale quickly backed away, hands worrying in front of his stomach. He felt absolutely useless. “Alright! Alright, I won’t. Please, Crowley. Everything’s just fine. Focus on your breathing. You’re safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Safe?!” Crowley choked out, aggressively shaking his head, “I trusted you! I thought you saw the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best </span>
  </em>
  <span>in me, and here you just saw me as- as some gold-digging </span>
  <em>
    <span>user! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Is that why you wouldn’t fuck me? Scared you would catch something? Scared I'd rob you blind?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale winced at the painful accusation. It was unbearable, hearing Crowley say such foul things about himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not listening to me, Anthony. I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>think that. You’re such a darling person. You’re so sweet and clever, and I know you don’t believe this! You must know how I feel about you! You must have </span>
  <em>
    <span>some inkling </span>
  </em>
  <span>of an idea how deeply I adore you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fucking manipulate me!” the redhead sobbed, gasping for air as he dropped his head into a shaking palm. “I see the worst in myself already! Every bloody day! I don’t need you </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking </span>
  </em>
  <span>for more reasons I’m a fuck-up!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the sort!” Aziraphale snapped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get out of my way! Let me go!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked at him up and down. He felt ruined inside. All he wanted to do was rush forward, to grab Crowley and shelter him and hold him safe and tell him what a beautiful wonder he was, to scold him for talking so horrendously about himself, but how could he when he was the very thing Crowley was so afraid of? This wasn’t the right time to pull rank. Not when he so clearly lacked consent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well,” he ceded, voice weak and crackling, “but please let’s… let’s discuss this when you calm down. I don’t want to leave things like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment he stepped to the side, Crowley flew past like a shot, rushing towards the door. Aziraphale kept his distance as he followed after, not wishing to frighten him into an even more panicked state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to worry about it,” Crowley spat through a wavering voice, yanking open the entryway to the fire escape, “This is over. I’ll change shifts. I’ll move to trauma. You’ll never have to see me again. Goodbye, Aziraphale. Have a good life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slammed shut, and Aziraphale was left standing in his dining room and staring at the table they had only just been sharing a meal at so pleasantly not ten minutes ago, before something had triggered his dear person. He wasn’t sad, not quite. Didn’t have time to be. Didn’t have the capability to mourn something he wouldn’t believe for an instant was over. Instead he was afraid. Panicked. Worried down to his core for Crowley, who was now running home through London in the middle of an anxiety attack or a manic episode or- or </span>
  <em>
    <span>both. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What the hell had just happened? </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At present, Crowley’s mind felt much like a filing cabinet that had suffered a metal bat being taken to it. Drawers had been thrown from their slots. Shelves destroyed. Contents scattered in a whirlwind around a room that had taken years of careful organizing to tidy up in the first place. The most basic of concepts escaped him. It took him about an hour of sitting on the Tube, traveling aimlessly, before he realized he could call someone. He tried his therapist once. Twice. Three times, leaving more than one hysterical message begging for her to call him back. She didn’t, and then another basic idea returned: finding a friend. He could go home. Go to Bealz. That was a thing he could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he did it, relieved to find them in the living room when he turned the key to their flat. They were laying face down in the middle of the living room, but flopped over when they heard him enter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa,” they said, “You look like shit. Thought you were spending tonight with Aziraphale.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck him,” he spat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tony, you didn’t,” they started, a warning tone in their voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head snapped up, eyes narrowed. With his files blown to bits, he couldn’t put words to the feeling welled up in his chest. So he took a wild guess and labeled it “anger”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t what? Bea, he called me a gold digger!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t believe me?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were calm. Too calm. This was dismissiveness incarnate. It inflated the mystery feeling in his chest even further, so much he felt as if he’d vomit it out. Were he not all cried out, he’d start back up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it’s just like every other rubbish story you’ve made up about every other partner you’ve ever dumped so unfairly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Unfairly?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he snarled, stalking over to hover above them, “You’re not even going to pretend to care about me right now? I just had my heart broken!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” they spat back, glaring upward, “You just broke someone’s heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aziraphale’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>heart. The best one you were going to find. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>care about you, but that’s why I’m drawing a line. I’m not enabling this. Not this time. Why do you think Dr. Owen dumped you as a patient? You’re delusional when it comes to this. Such a stubborn little jackass. So go back while you still can and </span>
  <em>
    <span>beg </span>
  </em>
  <span>that man to take you back!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoffed, throwing his arms in the air and stalking around them, “After what he said about me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d bet my entire next six months of wages that he didn’t say a single bloody foul </span>
  <em>
    <span>word </span>
  </em>
  <span>against you. Just like Lilith only ever asked for information on bisexuality and then you ran your mouth ‘bout how she was ‘biphobic’ and used it as an excuse to break up with her first thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t there!” Crowley shouted, “She looked at me like I was a freak! After seven months together, she finds out I’ve fucked ‘round with people of other genders and flips her shit!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds fake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shouting growl of frustration escaped Crowley, and he snatched a pillow off the sofa, screaming into it before chucking it across the room. The thing lightly bounced off the wall and flopped onto the floor anticlimactically. The act had been incredibly unsatisfying. He collapsed on the edge of the furniture, a pile of weary limbs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pray tell. Why would I lie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you have pathetic abandonment issues from when you were a poor little orphan, so now you run away before you can be kicked to the curb. Snatch up the closest excuse you can get as soon as shit gets real. I’ll admit I don’t think you’re lying on purpose. You’re lying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>yourself, </span>
  </em>
  <span>convincing yourself that this ridiculous propaganda is true in a botched attempt to protect yourself, and that’s even worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Exasperated tears built up at the edges of Crowley’s vision, blurring the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is true. After you promised me you wouldn’t run, you’ve gone and done it. He would never abandon you, Anthony.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just like you would never abandon me?” It was a bad call. An unfortunate breakneck retort. A horrible endeavor, really, but once he spat it out, all he could do was make a half-assed attempt to stand behind it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz sat up. Ice blue eyes drove straight to his heart, and he felt as if he was being pinned down by the devil himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck no. Fuck you. We did not go through years of therapy together so you could </span>
  <em>
    <span>continue </span>
  </em>
  <span>to hold that over my head over a decade later. I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>right here.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He ducked his head, biting his lower lip as hot salty tears dripped down his face. Amber eyes shifted to the bag of his things beside his feet, and he felt empty. He knew he was in the dog house. Knew he shouldn’t dig himself deeper, but he’d never had impulse control. Never known good judgement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a bloody hypocrite.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse the fuck out of me?” Bealz growled from their chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re here acting like I’m a coward, but what about you and Winger, eh? You tell me not to run, but what kind of sorry example are you? That’s all you’ve been doing. Running. A load of bollocks, that is. You want to talk about my childhood baggage as if you have none of your own. At least I had the courage to break up with Aziraphale to his face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words tasted like acid on his tongue. He hadn’t said them aloud. He felt as if he was astral projecting on a precipice he’d already leapt off of, staring down at the rocky shore hundreds of meters below as his body spun towards them. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t look down.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. He knew he’d already jumped. He was too afraid to witness the outcome. Bealz was right. He knew that. He was a coward. What was new? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The small figure stood to their feet, marching forward with a stone cold face, snatching the front of his shirt, and yanking him to his feet before pointing to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get the fuck out. I’m not going to tolerate you spewing bullshit at me in my own home. You’re embarrassing us </span>
  <em>
    <span>both. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Go on. Go pity yourself. Go wallow in sorrow over the voluntarily- </span>
  <em>
    <span>purposeful </span>
  </em>
  <span>destruction of the best romantic relationship you’ll ever know in your fucking life and don’t come back until you’re ready to face the bloody music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gladly!” he hissed back, snatching up his bag and storming off to his own flat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The files were trashed. The room in disarray. So what? He’d dumped his boyfriend. Pissed off his best friend. If tonight was a night for ruining things, then he might as well go out with a bang. He changed into leather pants and a glitch-graphic crop top, yanking on the faux fur coat Bealz had left at his place and applying eyeliner before sauntering out into the terrible snow storm outside, on the hunt for the seediest, sickest club he could find. He found purchase at a joint called ‘Lucifer’s’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ordered two shots, downing them simultaneously and chasing them with a whiskey on the rocks before making his way out to the dancefloor. All manner of hands slid up his thighs, over his stomach, up his shirt. It felt good. Liberating. He threw his head back, losing himself to the music and the grind of bodies sandwiching him until the heat started feeling uncomfortable. The friction was scratching. He was being tossed around like a sturdy toy. No mindful handling. No gentleness beneath the rough gropes. No plan. No reverence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squirmed away, finding a group of girls who seemed to fancy him, giggling excitedly and sliding their fingers up his shirt between naturally flowing banter. The group traded casual, fun snogs with one another between chats and dances. Crowley managed to down five more shots with the party-goers. Eventually they decided to move to an underground concert they’d heard about. He was invited with, but politely declined (much to the girls’ disappointment) when he met a pair of dark eyes across the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting fucked would surely get him out of his head. It’d been months. No thanks to-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t think about him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t toe the edge.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> fucking look down. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He jerked his head towards the toilets, and met the stranger in the hallway outside them. He practically mauled Crowley, slamming him against the wall. It wasn’t for his enjoyment. At the moment he didn’t care. Or at least, he tried not to. He tried not to care that the kiss was too wet, too sloppy. He tried not to care about the hand pressing over his neck as if it owned him, when it didn’t. He tried not to care that the figure pressed against him was too thin, too tall, lacking any charming softness, no belly at all, and adorned only with useless glamour muscles that held no real power. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand roughly slid into his trousers and pants, pawing at his arse, and Crowley squirmed uncomfortably, tossing his head back. He tried to close his eyes. Tried to enjoy the leg grinding between his.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t compare. Don’t look down. Don’t compare. Don’t look down.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a little slut, yeah?” the unfamiliar voice growled in his ear. Not calm. Not sweet. Not collected. “You want to be used?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words were that last shove he needed, sending him hurdling over the edge of the cliff and flailing towards the rocky waters below. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley let out an involuntary sob, hands flying to his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No no no no no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to be used.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want to be loved.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>By the one I love. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want to be taken care of by the man who knows my needs. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even when I don’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Especially when I don’t.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want my angel. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa,” the stranger started, snatching his hands away from Crowley, “I am- I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry! Are you alright, mate?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Crowley choked out the obvious lie, barreling past the taller figure and into the bathroom before angrily trembling hands locked the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fall was long. Disoriented. He couldn’t figure it out- which way was up. Which way was down. Where his hands were meant to go. How to break the fall. How to quell the terror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His panicked fingers searched out the faucet as if he was blind, and he twisted it on. He gasped for air as his hands cupped together, splashing the water on his face just as he hit the salty sea hard as a fall to concrete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands gripped the side of the sink, and he heaved himself up, looking at his reflection in a shattered mirror. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you done?” he sobbed, a hand twisting in his hair, “You absolute fucking idiot! </span>
  <em>
    <span>What have you done?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Remember you pinky promised!!!</p><p>Okay, I swear the next chapter puts the "comfort" in "hurt/comfort"! Sure wish Crowley's therapist picked up her phone, nothing quite like being triggered into a hypomanic episode. Luckily our boy Azi is such a sweet, patient, understanding angel. His response to being dumped? He'll steal the "sounds fake" right out from under Bealz.</p><p>Feel free to yell at me in the comments. </p><p>Welp, I'm late for work, so I'll have to amend a fic rec later on today!~ I promise I won't wait too long to get the next chapter out~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have heard your cries and come bearing comfort!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The hands of the grandfather clock taking up residence in the back room of the bookshop moved suspiciously slow, as if taffy had been shoved between their gears. They were doing as much specifically to spite Aziraphale. After staring at them intermittently for one hour, fifty-nine minutes, and thirty-nine seconds, he was certain of it.</p><p>He’d tried to call Crowley, of course he had, limiting himself to three attempts and only one voice mail composed of unadulterated groveling and desperate requests that at the very least he might confirm he was <em> safe. </em>None of them had found purchase. He wasn’t entirely certain, when considering the state the redhead had departed in, that he was in any proper mindset to be checking his mobile at all. </p><p>Aziraphale had played the conversation- or confrontation, rather- over and over in his head as blue eyes locked on those ticking arms, trying so fervently to use that well-trained intellect of his to sort it out. The only conclusion he managed to bring himself to was that trigger, that flick of the switch, had not been in a careless word mumbled astray. It hadn’t been in a look or in an action. It had been in Crowley’s mind, alone. An inspired thought that Aziraphale couldn’t possibly know, only watch as it destroyed his darling’s composure from the inside out.</p><p>He found himself spiraling as well, burdened by his own unwelcome thoughts. What if Crowley, in his panic, had gotten lost? Wandered into a bad situation? Oh, and who <em> knew </em>what troubles that utter lack of impulse control might get him into at present. </p><p>A well manicured nail hovered over the “call button” on his contact for Beatrix, and the moment the clock indicated two hours survived in the dark, alone with his worst fears, he tapped it, bringing his mobile to his ear. </p><p>It was late. Nearly midnight, but Aziraphale had reasoned that there must be some buffer before contacting Crowley’s emergency contact. Some amount of time that didn’t violate a boundary. Proof of self control that might convey the truth that he was panicked, worried, rather than controlling. </p><p>The line hardly got through it’s second trill before a deadpan voice greeted him.</p><p>“Ugh. He can be such a little bitch, can’t he?” </p><p>Aziraphale blinked, eyes flickering back to the clock face as if it would hold an explanation. “Beg pardon?” </p><p>“Oh. Assumed you were callin’ about Hurricane Crowley. Nasty bugger of a storm, that. Barely got out unscathed, meself, and I figured I just got the aftershocks of whatever bloody terror hit you. Alright? Your walls still standing? Windows intact?” </p><p>The blonde shifted uncomfortably, unsure why Bealz would be asking after him if they’d seen the state Crowley had been suffering.</p><p>“Yes, I- I was just hoping to know if Crowley’s alright- If he’s safe, I mean.” </p><p>“Nope,” they popped the ‘p’, and Aziraphale’s heart plummeted.</p><p>“Whatever do you mean?”</p><p>“I mean what I said. When he gets like this, there’s no telling what’ll happen. He could disappear and wake up in a drug house, mouth off to the wrong person, shoplift, take hard and unreliable drugs, trust someone with ulterior motives. Possibilities are endless, really.”</p><p>Tears burnt at the edges of Aziraphale’s eyes, blurring his vision, and he swallowed thickly, trying to focus past the pounding in his ears.</p><p>“Shouldn’t we go… go look for him?” </p><p>“Oh, no. In this state he can go around you or through you, and I’d think you’d have learned to prefer the prior. Pickin' your battles an' all that, yeah?" </p><p>An involuntary, distressed noise sounded from Aziraphale’s throat. He had many strengths. Sitting back to allow someone- anyone- <em> especially </em>someone he cared about to endure suffering? To lurk in danger? Not a strong suit. A sigh huffed into static in his mobile, and Bealz made some attempt at comfort, “Look, don’t lose your head. I guarantee you he’ll be back and begging forgiveness before dawn.”</p><p>“Does this,” Aziraphale started, feeling like a monster for allowing himself to ask, “happen often?” </p><p>“No,” Bealz rushed out, “Well, yes. Well- fuck. The hypomania rears its head every few months or so. The low swings come ‘round a bit more often, I’m sure you’ve seen it, but the mixed episodes, like this? Very rare, and look, they're bad, I won't bullshit you, but they're not usually- not like this. Not at- <em> at </em>people, and he works his arse off to manage it, so don’t go thinking this is the norm. Usually when he has episodes like these he just tries to... escape, whatever the cost. He'll run out of fuel, soon, though. Guessing this one will soon be interrupted by a nervous breakdown. Anyway, look- You know Tony. I know you do. Don’t let this one instance steer you wrong; he might be a proper tosser sometimes, a stubborn little brat, but he’s not nasty or malicious. He’s harmless. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just-”</p><p>“Has bipolar,” the doctor realized aloud. </p><p>“Duh. And anxiety and-,” they stopped short. There was a ruffling sound, a soft thump as if a kick had been delivered to upholstered furniture. He heard what he suspected to be the rustle of clothing against the receiver, and a long string of distant cusses were hissed away from the mobile. </p><p>“Beatrix?”</p><p>“Forget I said that. That wasn’t mine to share. I just- I thought he’d have done by now. Such an insecure little shit. In fact, it’d be best he didn’t know about this conversation at all, it’ll send him spiraling out even further. Look. It’ll be fine. He’ll come around. Literally. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to listen for a knock on your door.” </p><p>“Alright. Thank you. Please… let me know of any updates?”</p><p>“Will do. Same here.” </p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Ta.” </p><p>The other line clicked, and Aziraphale pocketed his mobile. With an anxious glance around his apartment, he grabbed up a couple books, positive he would hardly have the focus read them, and made his way upstairs. By the time one o’clock rolled around, he attempted to nap on the sofa. A wretched, paranoid montage of all the horrible situations Crowley might be caught up in in played through his mind, each one more terrible than the last. Thus, the endeavor was abandoned, and he stood again, meandering around his apartment and finding little trinkets left behind by the redhead who'd run off with his heart. </p><p>The mug warmer on his desk, one of the<em> eight </em> Hanukkah gifts the redhead had given him, to accommodate his habit of abandoning drinks half way through. The tidy stack of blankets Crowley had been moving to his house one by one. The pitiful blue rag of a scarf hanging on the coat-hanger. He’d tried to hide it from Aziraphale, the blonde recalled, shoved it in the couch cushions and played coy when the doctor had found it. Of course, Aziraphale had managed to gently bully him into admitting he’d taken a knitting class, wanting to make him something nice. The result was decidedly <em> not </em> nice, and yet it immediately became one of the most precious items Aziraphale owned. </p><p>Around two thirty, he nearly thought he heard a noise from the fire escape, but no knock came. Must be a stray cat. A fallen icicle. </p><p>It was three seventeen when his mobile finally rang, and his heart leapt as he saw Crowley’s name light up the screen. His thumb struck accept before he could spare so much as a thought. He didn’t know what was waiting for him on the other line. More shouting, a pocket dial, or maybe-</p><p>“Crowley?”</p><p>Heartwrenching sobs, apparently, oddly echoing in Aziraphale's ear. He could hardly get another word in edgewise before Crowley started at his voice.</p><p>“Az-zz-ziraph-phale! I’m s-ss-so s-sorry,” he sobbed, teeth chattering and wind howling in the background.</p><p>“Are you outside?” the blonde asked, alarmed. </p><p>“I’m s-ss-such a fucking t-t-tosser. I kn-<em> know </em> that. I was ss-sss-so s-ss-stupid! Just-t-t a t-t-terrible, undeserving, wast-t-te of s-sss-space and I need-d-d you t-to know how <em> sorry </em>-”</p><p>The rambling was urgent and <em> drunken </em>and hardly distinguishable behind the chattering, slurring, and vicious sobs that came out of Crowley alongside the snowstorm going on in the background. Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath and forced all the command he could into his voice.</p><p>“Stop.” </p><p>Silence. Only whistling of the wind. He was somewhere off the ground. Aziraphale’s heart hammered much more persistently, lodging itself in his throat as he rushed to the coat stand. His no-driving-in-London rule was out the window as he struggled to remember where he put those damn keys. </p><p>“You will tell me where you are right this moment.” </p><p>A weak voice whimpered back, “F-f-fire escap-pe.” </p><p>“Whose?” </p><p>Another stretch without a response, the only noise that of Crowley attempting to swallow his sobs. It was rather enough of an answer. Aziraphale shot up to his feet, a surge of hope welling in his chest. He rushed to the exit to his fire escape, wrestling open the slightly frozen door and finding, to a mixture of his relief and his horror, Crowley, curled up in the snow, shaking more viciously than a leaf in the wind and quite blue in the face despite how worked up he was through his tears. He flinched, folding into himself and staring downwards as if he’d been caught red-handed. A nearly empty bottle of scotch was resting in his lap. </p><p>“I’m s-ss-sorry,” he wailed, and it seemed to be the only words of his vocabulary that he retained other the self-depreciating ones wearing unwelcomely on Aziraphale’s nerves. </p><p>The blonde rushed forward, but stopped short. In tandem with the curling closure of his previously outstretched fingers, Crowley’s face twisted. He buried it into his hands and his shoulders gave a disconcerting wrack. </p><p>“May I touch you?” Aziraphale asked out, raising his voice above the howling of the blizzard and battling against the closure of his throat. The cold cut into him like knives, but he hardly registered. The only thing that existed to him in that moment was Crowley. He was hurting. Aziraphale needed to help. </p><p>“An-n-nything! T-t-to me! I’m s-sss-sorry! D-d-don’t-t-t d-deserv-ve i-t-t.” </p><p>While it was a struggle to decode the message, there was a clear intention of permitting consent within it, and so the blonde scooped him up into his arms, his heart feeling instantly on the way towards a mend at the contact, and rushed him inside, pulling the door shut after him. </p><p>“My poor darling. You’re soaked to the bone.” </p><p>“D-don’t-t-t be nice t-t-to me,” Crowley whimpered while burying his face in Aziraphale’s collar. Strong vapors of booze came off him, as if he’d been drenched in it rather than drinking it.</p><p>“I rather think I’ll behave however I’d like, thank you.” </p><p>Aziraphale carefully deposited him on the bathroom counter, noting the way Crowley tried to cling to him as he shifted away. So he allowed himself to be pulled back. Bloodshot, watery amber eyes fixed on the front of his shirt, and Aziraphale sighed. </p><p>He paused for a moment, pulling his mobile from where he’d placed it in his pocket.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span class="u"><br/><b> <em>Text Sent to Beatrix Bealz January 22 3:26 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>He’s here. Might have some frostbite, but he’s safe. </p><p>
  <b> <em>Thank fuck. Tell him he’s a selfish little shit. </em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Deciding that was <em> not </em>the direction he would like to take, Aziraphale returned the mobile to his pocket and turned his gaze on Crowley’s multicolored face- blue from the cold and red from distress. He ever-so-gently raised his hands, grasping Crowley’s freezing, soaked cheeks in his palms and gave him a soft appraisal, looking for any severe frostbite on his face before moving to his fingers. He was nipped on his nose and ears and had what Aziraphale hoped to be superficial frostbite on his fingertips. The exam didn’t award Aziraphale any eye contact. Back to square one, he supposed. He appeared as fragile and flighty and desperate for love as he had on that first night, so long ago. Crowley clung to him as if he was going to be pushed away. “I’m just going to get you some motrin and aloe and run the bath. I’m not leaving you.” </p><p>Something about what he said must have touched <em> the </em> subject, the rosetta stone from which this all spiraled, as Crowley erupted into tears all over again, weakly attempting to pull Aziraphale’s wrists away from his face while simultaneously burying his own into a broad palm. The doctor’s heart ached. Crowley wanted him. It was clear, and yet he was afraid. Afraid of what? </p><p>“You shouldn’t-t-t t-t-take c-care of m-me. Don’t d-d-deserve it,” he hiccuped against the warm skin of Aziraphale’s wrist. </p><p>That’s what it was. Fear of being unworthy. </p><p>“Anthony,” he whispered like a prayer, laying a long, determined kiss to his temple before nuzzling in close, “Haven’t I always taken care of you? However could I deny you now, when you need it the most?” </p><p>“I ruined-d-d <em> everything,” </em> Crowley wailed, shifting his face again to bury in the doctor’s collar, where Aziraphale couldn’t look into his face again. </p><p>“Now, darling, surely that’s a bit dramatic. Nothing is ruined here,” Aziraphale chastised softly, digging his fingers in for a long, gentle massage of those points at the base of Crowley’s skull. He rocked him for a time, hushing him until the sobs quieted, and only sniffles and hiccups remained. Then he realized the redhead was snoozing, and let out a soft laugh, shaking him alert. “Something tells me your declaration of an ending between us doesn’t reflect your true desires.” </p><p>Crowley seemed to struggle with the concept that he hadn’t crushed everything between them to shatters, allowing Aziraphale to peel the wet clothing off him as he chewed on his thoughts. </p><p>“Why would-d-d you want-t me b-back after that? I’m s-s-so fucking b-br-broken. S-sss-t-t-tuck on the clearance sh-shhh-shelf. S-ssss-spoiled good-d-ds.” </p><p>Aziraphale fixed him with a disapproving but soft look, brushing his hand through the short hairs at his nape as Crowley anchored his forehead onto the broader figure’s shoulder</p><p>“We all have baggage, darling, and yes, I hardly think our relationship is sustainable if that’s how you go forth handling the reemergence of your trauma… but Crowley. You’re not ‘goods’ to be bartered. Absolutely, we have work to do. Conversations to be had. Boundaries to lay down. Explanations offered, but if you believe a single occurrence of lashing out from fear will have me running when you’ve proven time and time again to be a good, sweet, considerate, selfless, clever, darling human being, then I’m afraid you’re very sorely mistaken, indeed.” </p><p>Crowley clawed into the back of his waistcoat, blubbering into his chest, “Not-t-t good-d enough f-for you.” </p><p>Aziraphale frowned, pulling him away and tutting, “I rather believe that’s for me to decide, considering you seem to lack any ability to produce an accurate self-assessment.” </p><p>“N-n-no, it’s t-t-true,” Crowley gasped, shaking his head aggressively, “I’m a t-t-terrible, heartless, s-sss-selfish-”</p><p>
  <em> “Enough.”  </em>
</p><p>The redhead fell silent, face twisting again in a threat to shatter apart. </p><p>“No, darling. There’s been quite enough of that. Settle down, now,” the blonde hushed, smoothing the knot between red eyebrows with a thumb. </p><p>Crowley grew quiet after that, allowing Aziraphale to part from him for long enough to fill the tub and didn’t fuss much when he was gently lowered into it. Some of the color instantly began to pool back into his features. The doctor hushed him as he cried out from pain at the warmth rushing to his frostbite. Aziraphale managed to part from him long enough to dig through the medicine cupboard and retrieve the needed items. After pouring a glass of water for Crowley and encouraging him to take the painkillers, he mindfully massaged the aloe vera into his fingertips, glad to see him hush and relax. </p><p>“There you are, dove. Such a good boy for me. Isn’t that better?” Aziraphale hummed in a quiet voice, pleased when Crowley allowed him to arrange him so easily, tilt back his head, wash his hair. </p><p>After a time, the doctor rested his back on the wall beside the bath. Crowley had his arms folded on the ledge of the tub, cheek resting on the crook of an elbow. His eyelashes fluttered, breath evening and sighing into the sensation of Aziraphale’s hand massaging his scalp. </p><p>Then Aziraphale was pinned in place by wide, soft, vulnerable golden galaxies. He’d seen the rage within them earlier. The collapse of their stars. The supernovas. The spitting of solar flares. The formation of black holes, hungry to devour all that was in their path- good or bad.</p><p>It was all so still now. The lazy, measured drift of orbit. Planets going on with their turning. Stars shining. So calm. So lovely. He longed to traverse it all. </p><p>“Angel,” Crowley sighed, swallowing thickly. Oh, his voice sounded so hoarse. He looked so exhausted, as if he’d gone through hell. Perhaps he had. “I can’t… I have no good excuse for what happened today. I’m so ashamed-“</p><p>Aziraphale shushed him when his voice grew panicked again, and the redhead blinked away tears, working to keep his breath even. </p><p>“I justamonna… Wanna-wan- <em> want to </em> explain…”</p><p>“We don’t need to do that now, darling. It can wait.” </p><p>Crowley exhaled through his nose, Aziraphale got the idea that he might shake his head if he had the energy. </p><p>“Please,” he croaked. </p><p>Blue eyes appraised him, wandered over his pouting lips, his wind burnt cheeks, his bloodshot eyes. They held the truth of it all. They were earnest. Desperate. He needed this. Aziraphale brushed his thumb over Crowley’s lips, leaned forward to bless the freckled forehead with a kiss. </p><p>“I’m listening. I’m here.” </p><p>Wetness betrayed itself on the edges of eyeliner-smudged eyes, and Aziraphale at last found a moment quiet enough to appreciate the beauty of Crowley’s emotions.</p><p>“I’m… I’ve always done this. Didn’ wanna admit it. I didn’ wanna take responsibility, but I've been thinkin’ ‘bout it all night and… and is- it’s- it’s true. I’m… I’m so afraid of bein’ abandoned, and, and trust me I <em> know </em>how pathetically cliche that is-,” he deserted that line of thought, shyly dipping his chin at a stern look from Aziraphale before sliding back into his drunken, relaxed slurring, “but there it is. I’m sure it’s clear to you that I don’t often have a high opinion of meself, and- and- and if you can believe it, low self esteem and anxiety disorders don’t mix well. Crazy, that, innit?” </p><p>He grinned nervously at Aziraphale. He was given a loving smiling in return- not out of amusement, but to fulfill his need for comfort. </p><p>“It’s alright, Anthony,” the doctor soothed, encouraging him to go on.</p><p>Crowley needed another moment to swallow his tears before his ragged voice continued, accompanied by animated, one-armed gestures, “It’s been a… staggered development. Dunno really. ’s hard to track. Some of it started when I dated this woman in my late twenties. She was… well. Good at pinnin’ down my insecurities. Crafty, her. She used ‘em to manipulate me, held ‘em over my head with threats that she would leave me. Said no one else would want someone as needy and flawed as me. After that I just… started feelin’ so bloody<em> afraid. </em> Every relationship I’ve been in, I’ve feared that my partner’ll find my insecurities to be true, that the more I want ‘em- the more of me they see- the less they’ll want me, until they abandon me completely. I know it’s not rational or smart or… or whatever, but I guess somewhere along the way I started cuttin’ the curve. They can’t abandon me if I jump ship first. Somehow I started… started <em> tricking </em>myself. Making myself believe there was a valid reason to run. Usually it’s when I find I’m getting too attached and-” </p><p>He closed his eyes, swallowed, measured his breaths. Aziraphale didn’t breathe at all, didn’t press, simply waited. Patiently. Attentively. </p><p>“And I started thinkin’ ‘bout what my life would be like if you stop wantin’ me tomorrow, and I just realized- I realized I’m in <em>so deep. </em>I’ve never in my life felt for anyone what I feel for you. I’ve never <em>needed </em>anyone like how I need you. All I can think about is how <em>happy </em>I want to make you. I don’t think you have any idea how much power you have over me, over my heart, and heartbreak- heartbreak sounds so bloody <em>shallow </em>and <em>trivial </em>when I think about what would happen to me if you cast me aside. Even thinkin’ ‘bout it- it makes me so afraid. I was so afraid. I am, I still am. I’m- Aziraphale I’m,” he choked, clasping his fingers around Aziraphale’s until his knuckles were white. </p><p>Tearful golden galaxies bore straight into Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley’s face twisted into something honest and desperate. </p><p>“I’m <em> so </em>in love with you…” </p><p>Aziraphale released the breath he’d been holding at last, allowing his own tears to trickle down his cheeks. He smiled despite the way his lower lip was trembling, blinking the loose wetness from his eyelashes and rushing forward to kiss Crowley’s cheek. He wished to cup his hands, to catch as much of the affection that was pouring over from that precious heart as he could. He wished to break the dam of his own in turn, to tell him without a trace of hesitance or fear that he loved him back. Loved him differently than he’d ever loved before. But it wouldn’t be right. He wanted him to remember. Wanted him to hear it, clean and sober, that Aziraphale loved him. That even with his hedonistic heart, even with every fine cuisine in the world left untasted, every beautiful, ancient book waiting to be read, he didn’t want anything in the world the way he wanted Anthony J. Crowley</p><p>“Oh, Anthony,” he sighed, “You never need to be afraid. Not with me. I would do anything, <em> everything </em>in my power to keep you safe. One moment.” </p><p>He moved to stand and walk away, but Crowley grabbed his wrist in a panic, “Where are you going?” </p><p>“To get you something comfortable to wear, you silly thing. Wouldn’t you rather have this conversation somewhere I can give you a nice warm cuddle?” </p><p>With the promise of physical affections, Crowley released him, slipping into the water to keep warm and lacing his fingers over his belly as if in a silent promise to behave. Aziraphale gave an airy chuckle, bringing a soft towel with him to throw in the dryer and make warm for Crowley before searching for something that might fit him. Luckily, Crowley had left a pair of boxer-briefs behind, Aziraphale grabbed them along with the t-shirt he’d leant him the first occasion he’d visited, that night after Synagogue, and made his way back to the bathroom with a pit-stop at the dryer. </p><p>“Oh dear,” he sighed upon finding Crowley, shivering and wet on the bathroom floor as he heaved into the toilet. </p><p>Aziraphale wrapped the warm towel around him and rubbed soothing circles into his back, patiently murmuring words of comfort until he started snoozing on his upper arm. He laughed softly.</p><p>“Not just yet, darling.” </p><p>After gently bullying him into washing out his mouth and drying him off with the fluffy fabric, he assisted him in pulling on the dry clothing. Without Crowley not giving so much as an indication that he was willing to stand and walk, Aziraphale gathered him up into his arms. </p><p>“Would you rather sit in front of the fire or lay in bed?” </p><p>“Dun care,” Crowley grunted, nuzzling into Aziraphale’s collar, “long as you're there.” </p><p>Aziraphale opted for the bed, figuring it was ultimately one less trip to make once the redhead inevitably crashed from his exhaustion, and laid Crowley down, changing into his own sleep clothes and switching off the light before crawling in beside him. He wasn’t even awarded proper time to settle in before long limbs were wound around him, snatching him in a death grip. A smile crossed his face, and he buried his face into red locks smelling of his own shampoo, inhaling deeply and getting a touch of the scent of herbs beneath it. </p><p>“Thank you.” The sigh breezed against Crowley’s temple. </p><p>The death grip was only relieved the slightest bit as Crowley leaned back, eyes dazed and curious, “For what? The most hellish night on earth? For being a despicable, heartless little bitch?” </p><p>“Keep on with that. See where it gets you- No. For coming back. For baring your heart. It’s ever so lovely, you know,” Aziraphale sighed, brushing his fingers over Crowley’s cheek.</p><p>Golden eyes watered, and for the first time that night, the redhead huffed out a begrudging laugh, jostling under Aziraphale’s jaw. “Would you quit it? Dun you know when a bloke’s all cried out? Have some bloody mercy, angel!” </p><p>He laughed back, low and tired, and kissed Crowley’s temple, bringing a hand up to rub at those spots at the nape of his neck, figuring he might as well ‘hypnotize’ him into a state of calm with acupressure.</p><p>“Of course, darling. I’ll always give you what you need. Now hush-”</p><p>“You were the one talkin’ to me!” Crowley protested.</p><p>“Hush,” Aziraphale repeated with a laugh, enjoying the way Crowley threw a leg over his hip and somehow twisted his ankle to tuck a foot between plush thighs. His flexible little yogi.  “No more worries. No more panic. No more insecurity. Only sweet dreams. I have you, darling.” </p><p>With that, any remaining tension in Crowley’s body slipped away, and Aziraphale listened closely, feeling unsteady, heavy breaths even out into something easy, relaxed, measured. He thought of the confession he’d received, and felt his eyes water for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Crowley loved him. Crowley needed him. Crowley <em> wanted </em>to need him. It was good. To be good to be true, and in the face of all the obstacles before them, Aziraphale found himself unafraid. </p><p>Sure, they had matters left to discuss, but Aziraphale’s heart felt warmer and his mind lighter than they had been in weeks. He tried to keep his sniffles quiet as he admired Crowley’s freckled face, slack with sleep. It was so peaceful now, as if the redhead had taken each of Aziraphale’s words as a subconscious truth. The broader figure pulled him impossibly closer, pressing his lips to his forehead and hurdling quickly towards joining him in the blissful grasp of sleep. </p><p>“I have you,” he sighed. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Crowley sucked in a long, deep inhale upon awakening, shortly followed by a long, pained groan. It felt as if his head had been repeatedly slammed against a brick wall. His stomach turned uncomfortably. With a flop over onto his stomach, he buried his face in the pillow, hiding from the light coming in the window. On his next inhale, he sighed after, nuzzling in closer to take in the smell of vanilla, bergamot, and jasmine on the pillow. </p><p>Aziraphale. </p><p>Crowley shot upright, bracing himself with a palm to the mattress when the room- Aziraphale’s room- swirled violently. Satan, no. How much of a manipulative little shit could he be? He knew Aziraphale wouldn’t turn him away. In his drunken, miserable state he’d come to grovel, exploiting the angel’s kind heart and capacity for forgiveness. Naturally, he didn’t remember. He didn’t remember anything after buying a bottle of whiskey and staring off the Southwark Bridge while he mourned the loss of the man he was so sure would have been the love of his life. </p><p>Then the angel himself was walking in with his nose in a book. Pretty and calm and the very vision of domestic normalcy, as if nothing had happened. As if Crowley hadn’t lost his fucking mind in front of him. Panic welled up. He didn’t remember. What had he said? What had he done? How had he taken advantage of Aziraphale’s loving nature? </p><p><em> Run, </em> Crowley’s instincts said, <em> You pathetic, ruinous little monster. Run.  </em></p><p>A squeezing whine exited his constricted throat, heart pounding ferociously in his ears, and Aziraphale looked up, removing his glasses. </p><p>“Oh! You’re awake. Good morning, darling.” </p><p>The color drained from Crowley’s face, and he began a vicious shaking of his head, not caring about the pain and disorientation it incited. </p><p>“Aziraphale,” he choked out, vision growing blurry, “I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t- I never meant to have the audacity to beg for you back. I’ll go. I’m sorry. I just needed you to know-” </p><p>“Crowley, no more apologies. You’ve given me enough for a lifetime,” he sighed, closing his book and setting it on top of a chest of drawers. His glasses were slipped off his face, carefully folded, and deposited beside the book.</p><p>“Fuck- fuck I’m- I’m such a manipulative little shit,” Crowley croaked out, breath quickening as he fisted hands in his hair, noting, suddenly, the sharp burning sensation in his fingertips, “Showing up at your door to grovel at your feet as if my apologies are worth anything-” </p><p>“Anthony,” Aziraphale said, firmly yet gently, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside him, taking Crowley’s fingers away from where he didn’t realize he’d been digging them into his face. “Trying to convince me you’d done nothing wrong might have been manipulative. Blaming it on your illness might have been manipulative. You explained yourself. You took accountability. You shared a vulnerable truth that it seems you’ve had a hard time coming to terms with yourself, let alone confiding it in another. I’m ever so proud of you.” </p><p>Tears pricked at the edges of Crowley’s eyes, and his breathing evened while Aziraphale massaged that point between his thumb and index finger. Disbelief washed through him, buzzing with a strong undercurrent of anxiety. This couldn’t be true. Was he really meant to believe Aziraphale saw the ugly, mangled, pathetic truth and… and simply accepted it? Cared for him despite it? People didn’t <em> do </em>that. </p><p>Some glimmer of hope sparked in his heart, whispering louder than all the voices of doubt and fear, <em> maybe angels do.  </em></p><p>“Besides,” the angel grinned, “isn’t that a popular romantic trope? The romantic interest shows up at the protagonists home in the middle of a storm and bears their heart?” </p><p>Crowley choked out a laugh, and unable to deny himself any longer, wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, pressing warm kisses to his jaw. “Yeah, but I think said romantic interest isn’t typically sloshed out of his mind.” </p><p>“Well, you always have had your own way of doing things.” </p><p>The red head snorted, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s and closing his eyes in unrealistic hopes that the room would stop spinning. </p><p>“I… I really am sorry. I’m ashamed I lashed out at you like that-”</p><p>The pad of a warm thumb pressed against his lips to cease their movement, and Aziraphale shook his head with a stern glance. “If you burden me with one single more apology, I’m bound to drown in them. I quite believe I’m set for life. You’ve had your turn. We have quite a lot to talk about without going in circles, and I fully intend to get through it <em> without </em>you lodging any further heinous remarks towards yourself, thank you very much.” </p><p>Crowley ducked his head, opening his mouth to instinctively spit out another apology. It died in his throat. Instead, he swallowed, taking a deep, grounding breath before nodding. </p><p>“Okay. I’m- I’m here, angel. I’m present and I’m open for communication. I’m not going to close off or run away. So… give me what you got. Let’s talk.” </p><p>“Not so fast,” Aziraphale breathed a laugh, fondly pressing Crowley’s hair out of his face, “First, I have three facts and a promise to instill upon you.” </p><p>Crowley caught the hand before it fell away, bringing it to his cheek and leaning into the warm palm. Amber eyes were wide and receptive, ready to catch Aziraphale’s words like blessed rains. A small jerk of his head indicated he was ready. He was listening. </p><p>The blonde exhaled, smiling softly, leveraging Crowley with a gaze of pure, unadulterated adoration. </p><p>“Firstly, I love you, Crowley. Very dearly.” </p><p>Crowley’s heart stopped short. His eyes widened. His mouth fell open. Surely he’d misheard? </p><p>“Secondly, I <em> want </em>you. So terribly it’s like an uncontrollable wildfire within me. I want you more every day than I did the last. I want your clever comments and sweet favors. I want to be privy to the ongoings of that wild and, at times, outrageous imagination of yours. I want to be trusted with your pain and to incite your pleasure. I want that rude cheek. I want your saucy challenges so the win feels all the better. I want to scold you when you’re being a brat. I want to keep you safe and reign in those impulses when you can’t. I want to soothe your anxiety when it spikes. I want to comfort and reassure you when you’re feeling depressed. I want you at your baseline, and I want you during your episodes.” </p><p>The redhead choked out a sob. Aziraphale held him by the face. Keeping him from hiding. Keeping him from running. Both were the most distant desires Crowley could possibly entertain at present. The words, spoken so truthfully, spoken like fact, were red-hot and blinding, shining like the sun. He stared into those beautiful blue eyes. He wanted it. He wanted it to be burned up and consumed by this thing that felt so remarkably like love. The blonde paused to kiss away Crowley’s tears before carrying on. </p><p>“Thirdly, neither of those facts will change overnight. Nor will they change if you make a mistake, if you have a panic attack, if you need space, or if you need my undivided attention. If we have a problem, we will discuss it. If I suffer insecurities, I will present them to you, and expect you to do the same. If this relationship ends, and trust me, I’m desperately hoping it won’t, it will not be without a fair fight. You do not need to worry about me simply deciding I don’t want you. That’s an absolute fallacy.</p><p>“And as for my promise- Crowley, I will tell you that I love you, remind you that I want you, every single day until you believe it and every single day after. It’s alright if you can’t quite grasp it. It’s alright that you need that reminder. However, you will not insult me by suggesting my feelings and desires are untrue.” </p><p>Crowley was nodding long before his mind caught up with the motion. </p><p>“Okay,” he laughed, winding a hand through soft white curls, curling his fingers over a broad shoulder with the other, “Okay. Anything you want. Whatever you say. Aziraphale. Angel. I love you, too. Can you even imagine how much? Do you have any idea?” </p><p>“I think I might,” a soft chuckle reassured. </p><p>Aziraphale brushed a thumb across his jaw, sliding his fingers around his throat to grasp the nape of his neck and pull him in. Adoration and excitement pulsed through Crowley’s veins. His breath hitched in anticipation. Their noses brushed. Just before their lips touched, Crowley turned away, guilt hitting him so hard and abruptly he felt like a car stuck on the tracks, smashed by a train the driver <em> knew </em>would arrive eventually. </p><p>Blonde brows furrowed, and Crowley flinched at the gentleness of the fingers stroking his cheek. He pressed a kiss to his palm and dropped their hands into his lap, choking out, “I’m so sorry.” </p><p>“For what? Crowley what is it?” </p><p>Crowley’s face twisted in self-loathing, he shook his head, “I’m a filthy, wretched little slut, is what it is. I- I kissed other people last night. You deserve someone better. Clean and pure enough for someone as good as you. I’m- I’m disgusting, angel.” </p><p>Aziraphale looked incredibly unhappy. Crowley winced away, braced for rejection, but his fingers were caught before he pulled away. </p><p>“Is that all that happened? Did you do anything more?” the voice was forceful but not cold. </p><p>“No,” Crowley choked out, looking up at Aziraphale with watery, eager eyes, “Aziraphale, no. No, I was thinking of it but then it- it was so wrong. It wasn’t you. I just wanted you. I knew straight away I had to beg for you back. I realized it so quickly. I would do anything- anything to take it-” </p><p>Warm lips pressed against his own, gently yet forcefully. They stamped a firm message in their wake. Crowley’s heart bloomed open like a datura in the moonlight.</p><p>Forgiveness. Pure. Humbling. Intoxicating. </p><p>Aziraphale pulled away at last, nuzzling his pointed nose gently against Crowley’s hooked one before leaning back to look at him with a somber seriousness, squeezing his hands. </p><p>“You are not disgusting. Not filthy. Not any of those heinous words. Now, how do I know that this won’t happen again? That you won’t break up with me in a panic and run off to be intimate with strangers? Because I love you, Crowley, I do, but an apology only has significance if a change for the future is imparted along with it. I want to be here with you, to work through this together, and support you when you can’t support yourself. That said, this can not- <em> will </em>not be a recurring incident.” </p><p>Crowley felt caught, his eyes looked around as he fought to think. </p><p>“I’m- I’ve honestly never… never been in this position. I’ve never come back after running away, but… I’d imagine you knowing the- the <em> deal </em> and all is going to be… well, reassuring to say the least. I can’t promise I won’t get anxious and insecure, but I can promise to- to actually <em> talk </em>to you about my insecurities instead of putting words in your mouth. I can promise to listen. I won’t run from you. I don’t want to, not any more. I’ll do better. I’ll do my best every day to take it to heart when you remind me that you love and want me. I want that. I want you to have me, Aziraphale. I want to be yours. I’m not going to pretend it won’t be work for me, tamping down my impulses, but it’s work I’m willing to do. I’ll talk to my therapist. I’ll come up with a plan. I’ll keep you updated.” </p><p>Aziraphale gave him a scrutinizing gaze. “You promise not to sit on your feelings? No more silent suffering?” </p><p>Crowley gave him a long look before jerking his head in a nod. </p><p>“I promise.” He smiled weakly. “You know all I ever want is to be good for you. That desire is louder than the self-belittlement. Stronger than the impulses.” </p><p>Another long, lingering kiss. Crowley sighed into it, feeling dizzy and starstruck from more than a hangover when Aziraphale pulled away. </p><p>“ I can <em> confidently </em>promise I’ll never speak to you that way ever again. I know it was unacceptable, and I won’t erm,” he blinked, sick of the wetness that wouldn’t stop bloody coming. His eyes cast down, a thick veil of shame saddling his shoulders, “I won’t cower from you. I was running from my love for you, but I’m done with that. I’m ready to embrace it, especially if you love me, too. I- I trust you, angel. I do.” </p><p>He sighed and leaned into the caress brushed across his neck. Aziraphale peppered kisses across his cheek, on the tip of his nose, to the corner of his mouth. </p><p>“All I want is to take care of you darling.” </p><p>“I know,” Crowley laughed quietly, tilting his forehead against Aziraphale, “And I know I make it difficult sometimes, but don’t get it twisted, I want nothing more in the world than that. So are we… erm… squared away?” </p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale sighed, slipping his fingers under the soft blue shirt Crowley was drowning in and brushing them up and down sleep-warmed sides, enjoying the way his partner shivered beneath the affections. He paused, “Well- no. I suppose it’s my turn.” </p><p>Crowley sat back, sliding against the headboard and pulling Aziraphale to a more comfortable position beside him before twisting their fingers into a knot between their brushing thighs. Their sides slotted comfortably together. The redhead settled in for the harsh words, the slap on the wrist, the detailed description of how terribly Crowley had hurt him, the placement of the bar he had to reach to possibly make up for all the mess. </p><p>“I… know it may have been jarring to hear me fishing for reassurances. Truly, I should have asked more directly, communicated my insecurities outright.” </p><p>The nurse was shocked as the words Aziraphale shared with him were not those of reprimand, but instead suggested self-fault. He shook his head firmly.</p><p>“Aziraphale, you didn’t do anything wrong-” </p><p>“I know,” his angel squeezed his hand, giving him a wavering if not somewhat knowing smile, “please, let me finish.” </p><p>Crowley slid his mouth shut, nodding demurely and looking up patiently at Aziraphale. Anxiety was eating at him. Stomach in knots. He hadn’t a clue where this was going, and he desperately wished he had his xanax on him. </p><p>“I want to share those insecurities with you now, if I may. You shared your struggles with me, and I wish to do the same. It might be- well, it might be something useful for you to know, going forward.” </p><p>He looked up, expectantly, and was greeted with a patient nod. </p><p>“Right, well. I won’t pretend I haven’t had a wonderful life. I have. I know how blessed I’ve been, but I suppose my approach to life- uninhibited understanding and compassion- it has its dangers. I… enjoy taking care of people. You know that, of course. Never so much as when I have an opportunity to care for a partner. It’s always been a skill of mine, assessing peoples’ needs. So often, they can’t fulfill them alone, and I enjoy stepping in to fill in the gaps. Some of the partners I’ve had… well, they enjoyed it at first.” </p><p>The bitter taste of jealousy filled Crowley’s mouth. He would listen, of course, but he couldn’t pretend to enjoy hearing about Aziraphale catering to the needs of those undeserving of them. Bringing pleasure and comfort to men who weren’t him. There was a point, of course there was, and he would wait for it. Aziraphale would never taunt him with these stories unless there was. </p><p>“But there seemed to be a… a trend of demanding more than what they needed. Demanding- no- <em> expecting </em> their wants and desires to be fulfilled as well, whether or not it was good for them. There was certainly a disregard for if it was good for me. I’m not suggesting they were <em> all </em> bad, I’ve been with some truly lovely souls in my time- oh don’t make that face, you silly thing; I only have eyes for you, now- the point is, some of them weren’t so lovely. Some took advantage of my desire to take care of them. Some of them used me for money, for influence, for social-climbing. Some of them used me to support relationships hidden on the side. Some of them I don’t believe ever truly loved me at all, merely loved what I could do for them.” </p><p>Crowley didn’t mean to wrinkle a nostril, to grimace in anger at the injustice, but he did. Then he wondered if he was much better. Of course, he would <em> never </em>use Aziraphale. He would reject every gift he ever attempted to give if it came to that. He would pay for every outing out of his own salary. But hadn’t he acted so selfish, so petty when his angel asked for reassurances? Had he frightened him out of ever asking again? </p><p>“Angel… angel, I’m so-”</p><p>“If you finish that sentence with ‘sorry’, Anthony, I shall be very cross.” </p><p>The nurse breathed out a laugh, crawling to straddle thick thighs, wrap his arms around broad shoulders, and twist his fingers in the short curls at the back of Aziraphale’s head. The blonde smiled, squeezing the slender figure close and sliding the fingers of one hand up Crowley’s shirt to rub soothing circles over the small of his back. The other hand brushed mindlessly over a bare thigh. The redhead took a deep breath, arching his back to squirm impossibly closer and staring deeply into Aziraphale’s eyes.</p><p>“I just… look. I love you. Not for your money. Not for your profession- although I certainly love seeing you at work. Not for your social circles or status. I love you for your mind, how impossibly intelligent you are. For your bleeding heart, and oh, fuck me, your <em> patience. </em> I love that you don’t get embarrassed when I act loud and ridiculous in public. I love your dry wit. That you’re a bit of a high-and-mighty bastard. That you’re a snob. That you act like my cooking is the most amazing thing to come into existence since the invention of the wheel. That you’re strong and soft and <em> bossy </em> and so impossibly sexy and I would love you even if you weren’t any of those things. I love that you give me what I need when I don’t even know what that is. I love taking care of you and cleaning up your messes. Fuck, I love <em> you. </em>Please don’t be afraid of asking for reassurances. I want to give you what you need. I’m not- I know I’m-,” he stopped, swallowing the instinctive self-depreciation down thickly and floundering for different words, “I want to give you everything.” </p><p>Now Aziraphale was fighting tears, the great sap, and Crowley laughed, tilting his chin and leaning in for an indulgent kiss. </p><p>“Aren’t you such a darling boy? My sweet little treasure?” </p><p>Crowley began to preen, but his confidence fell halfway short, guilt returning to gut him without hesitation or mercy. </p><p>“When I’m not a hysterical, self-preserving little pr-.” </p><p>Aziraphale delivered a sharp smack to his arse, and Crowley yelped in surprise, turning pink and ducking his chin at the smarting sensation.</p><p>“I’ve forgiven you. It’s time to forgive yourself, dear. I won’t allow for guilt from the past to disrupt our happiness going forward. Is that understood?” </p><p>The redhead jerked his head in a nod, swallowing thickly as he pressed himself firmly against Aziraphale’s chest, squeezing him in a hug. His mind was racing. He felt an impulse to do everything in his power to make things up to Aziraphale and to do them all at once. Right now. Somehow simultaneously, he felt like an old tea towel that had been wrung out completely. Miserable. Ragged. Dirtied. Hopeless even in the face of a good washing. But for once, in the midst of his downswing, he felt safe. </p><p>“Can I lay back down?” </p><p>“Oh dear, feeling the effects of last night, are we, darling?” </p><p>He nodded pitifully, his ear rubbing against Aziraphale’s. </p><p>“Right. Why don’t you come have a lie down on the sofa and we’ll get you breakfast.”</p><p>Crowley’s stomach gave an uneager lurch, and he shook his head. “Ugh. Don’t want to think about food.” </p><p>“That’s too bad, because you’ll be eating it. Come along, dear.” </p><p>The redhead felt a gentle tap against his thigh, but groaned, burying his nose into Aziraphale’s hair. </p><p>“Too dizzy.” </p><p>“You are a spoiled little thing, aren’t you?” Aziraphale teased, scooting to the edge of the bed despite it and allowing Crowley to cross his ankles behind his back before lifting him and carrying him to the living room. He pressed a kiss to his cheek as he walked and hummed, “I think you just like the attention.”</p><p>“Maybe. Maybe I have a bit of a strength kink.” </p><p>“Oh? I’ll have to file that away into memory, then. I’m struggling to find a kink you <em> don’t </em>have.” </p><p>Crowley laughed at the teasing, allowing himself to be arranged on the sofa and tucked in with a blanket. </p><p>“There are plenty, but I see your point. Big kinky fan, me.” He winked, wiggling into a comfortable position. “Happen to know where my mobile is?” </p><p>“Oh, yes, it must still be in the washroom.” </p><p>Crowley moved to stand, catching himself with a palm against the sofa when he misjudged his balance. Aziraphale pinned him back down with a stern look. </p><p>“Lay down.”</p><p>“Or what?” Crowley challenged with a cheeky grin. </p><p>“Would you like a proper spanking?” he warned, turning to move towards the bathroom. </p><p>Crowley huffed, getting cozy back under the microfiber blanket. </p><p>“Spank <em> you,” </em>he mumbled under his breath. Aziraphale rolled his eyes upon returning, handing Crowley his mobile. The redhead winced as he gripped the rectangle, minding the burning sensation in his fingertips yet again and observing the mottled coloration on the ends of nearly all ten fingers. “Happen to know what's goin' on here?” </p><p>“Frostbite, you terribly wreckless thing. Only superficial, I suspect by your skin tone. Honestly. Prancing about in the middle of a snow storm with no hat or gloves- and in a <em> crop top </em>no less,” he chastised. </p><p>Crowley tried not to roll his eyes, knowing it would do nothing to help his case.</p><p>“I’ll remember that during my next bout of hypomania, thank you.” </p><p>“Yes, well. Just another reason you need to keep me informed on how you’re feeling,” Aziraphale tutted tenderly. </p><p>Crowley gazed at him with overwhelming fondness. He’d seen the worst of it, and yet here he stood, not daunted in the least and eager to care for him. </p><p>“What’s on the menu?” </p><p>“Oh, I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to see what’s in the kitchen.” </p><p>“Wait,” Crowley said, “Do you mean you’re <em> making </em>breakfast? Sure you’re not going to poison me further?” </p><p>Aziraphale huffed, righting his waistcoat as he moved towards the kitchen and throwing over his shoulder, “I’m not hopeless, Crowley. I know how to put egg and avocado on toast.” </p><p>“You <em> are </em> gonna <em> cook </em>the egg first, right?” he shouted. </p><p>From the kitchen he heard Aziraphale’s voice call back, “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see,” and grinned to himself, adjusting his pillow and flopping down before pulling up his text messages. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to Garbage Opossum January 22 11:39 AM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>U were right I was wrong imma tosser blah blah blah, I’m sorry</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Again.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Uuuaghghhhawueisghkfj;s you were RIGHT. </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>And? </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I was wrong. Happy? </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Again.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>How old r u ??? I rly am sry. </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Heh. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Don’t you know, luv? I’m always right. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>You’re forgiven, I suppose.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Only because I am a kind and benevolent ruler.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ur just as much of a tosser as I am lol</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Well that was never under dispute.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>All back to rights in paradise? </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ye, luckily ur not the only 1 capable of forgiveness</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Surprised he got a word in past your self-diminishing wailin.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Yeah well. He cut that short</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Shit! Must be a genius, been tryin to figure out how to do that for nearly three decades.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Pray tell, what is this ancient technique he’s discovered? </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Spanking</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Lol!!! </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Awww so nice to see you bein sweet for Daddy again.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Ugh! Fuk u!</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Don’t think Daddy would like that.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Don’t CALL him that!</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Oooh! ‘Good boy’’s getting possessive, is he? </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Shut it! Never tellin u anything again! H8 u!!!</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Love you too. </em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley distantly heard Aziraphale puttering about the kitchen, putting on the kettle, humming some classical tune. It made his heart beat a little slower, calm overcoming him despite his face still reddened from Beatrix’s remark. Perhaps he didn’t need xanax, after all. </p><p>
  <em> “I just want to know about your life. If Beatrix is so important to you, I’d like to be friends with them. I’d like to understand your bond.” </em>
</p><p>The words played back in his head. The start of this all. That’s all it really was, wasn’t it? Aziraphale loved him. Wanted him. Wanted to be part of the important things. Crowley closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling slowly through his mouth. He was still afraid. Of course he was. But if he wanted this relationship, really and truly, he had to share. He had to let Aziraphale in and trust that he would love and accept what he discovered the same way he loved and accepted Crowley now. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to Garbage Opossum January 22 12:02 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Oy</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Back at you.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Wat wud u say if I suggested u meat Aziraphale properly? </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Meet* </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>And I’d say s bout bloody time. </em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Kay</b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Look, bout the worlds colliding- don’t go mad over it. Invite the lads. That way it won’t be so much like bringin him home to meet your parent. Hell, I’ll even forgo the ‘I’m a surgeon, if you hurt him I know how to make your death look like an accident’ spiel.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b>How kind. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a bad idea, really. His group of friends was rather friendly beyond their gruff exteriors, and surely Aziraphale would learn plenty about him just by experiencing them. He messaged the group, inviting them to dinner and maneuvering some back and forth about what day worked for everyone. They’d all just agreed to come by the following weekend when Crowley started at the sound of his grumbling stomach. He glared down at it. Surely he couldn’t be hungry and sick as hell with a hangover at the same time? Nausea was pulsing through him, and if he had anything in his stomach, he might go try and chuck it up. </p><p>“Here you are,” Aziraphale’s voice sounded gently, and he slid in near Crowley, setting the toast on the coffee table and teasing, “even cooked the egg for you.” </p><p>Crowley’s face must have betrayed the wave of sickness that surged through him, because Aziraphale hummed soothingly and brushed his fingers through his hair before taking a seat near his legs. Manicured fingers took up the stroking of a lithe thigh. </p><p>“Take it slow,” he encouraged, “one bite at a time, I’m sure you’ll be feeling hungry in no time.” </p><p>Despite the protest raging in his body, Crowley complied. It didn’t taste bad, not at all, and yet a natural grimace crossed his face as he forced himself through the movements of chewing and swallowing. He waited a few minutes for his stomach to settle and found the second bite to be a fraction less unbearable. Five bites passed before he decided to break, sliding the plate onto the table and shifting to look at Aziraphale. Long legs rearranged to slide over the doctor’s lap. </p><p>The blonde smiled, distracted from his book, and looked up and over his glasses to observe Crowley, free hand sliding up and down his calf. He met his anxious gaze expectantly. </p><p>“Are you free Saturday? Not tomorrow, the one after,” Crowley blurted. </p><p>Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow. </p><p>“I can always be free for you, darling, although I do appreciate the notice. Did you have something specific planned?” </p><p>“Yeah I- erm. My mates- uh- Faust, Weiss, Sable, Carmine, and Bea are comin' over for a get together at my place. Nothing big, might break out the pasta maker, play some poker, maybe, y'know, and I was just, um, wonderin’ if maybe you’d want to come?” </p><p>Aziraphale’s amusement slipped into heartfelt softness, and he smiled tenderly, nodding the slightest bit. “My dear, I think I’d be very happy to join you.”</p><p>Relief flooded Crowley, but was quickly pushed back out and replaced with an anxious anticipation. Would Aziraphale embrace or reject what he found? The inevitable realities of Crowley’s sordid past? The silly details and embarrassing stories his friends would no doubt share? He tilted his chin down to gaze at Aziraphale, fingers itching on his hip to reach out. </p><p>“Do you-? Never mind.” </p><p>“I will mind, I think. What is it darling? Anything you need,” the doctor pressed so gently.</p><p>Crowley sucked in a breath of bravery, golden eyes going soft as they gazed up to meet blue, “Do you think you’d mind telling me again?” </p><p>The most beautiful smile crossed Aziraphale’s face, and as if he could read Crowley’s mind, he took up his long fingers in his hand, raising them to his lips. A thrill of complete and utter adoration shot through Crowley’s body and tickled his frostbitten fingertips as his love’s voice rang out.</p><p>“Until my voice gives way and the world stops turning, I’ll tell you again and again; I love you and I want you.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You all have upheld your pinky promise and so I have upheld mine!</p><p>I was BLOWN AWAY by the feedback last chapter! Let this serve as proof that thoughtful comments often inspire authors to get out content faster 😂 💜 Crowley isn't the only one up in here angling for praise. </p><p>For this chapter's fic rec I'm going to suggest Be Still, My Love, Be still by entanglednow. At last, a completed fic for you all 😂. In this Explicit story, Aziraphale is a lonely bookshop owner who has received a load of new books from an estate sale. Soon after the books arrive, he finds himself visited by a sleep paralysis demon and falls into an unlikely romance.<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23871301/chapters/57380941</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. First Impressions Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yet another long chapter that I had to split into two! Just couldn't justify a 12k chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It’s open!” Aziraphale heard an unenthused voice shout from the other side of Crowley’s door upon knocking. </p><p>He opened the door, unimpeded (Crowley had insisted he bring nothing but his appetite and his poker face), and found Beatrix Bealz upside down on the modern sofa in the sitting room playing some sort of gaming device. Aziraphale didn’t know which one, he’d once gifted something called ‘Gameboy 3DS’s to his nephews. After that he’d never paid much attention to any developments. Through the open layout he found Crowley amidst a frazzled frenzy, turning about in the kitchen and muttering frustratedly at himself. He looked handsome as ever, wearing tight, deep red trousers, a flattering grey henley with the sleeves pulled up to mid-forearm, and black snakeskin boots. Aziraphale was happy to see his eyes were not hidden behind any shades this evening.</p><p>“Hello, darling,” Aziraphale attempted to no avail. Crowley seemed to be trapped in another mental realm entirely. </p><p>“You’ll have to try harder than that, mate, he’s stuck,” Bealz droned.</p><p>“Stuck?”</p><p>“Yep. Stress spiral.” </p><p>“Oh dear,” he mumbled, meandering over to the kitchen. Crowley looked straight through him, not entirely registering his presence. Bealz hadn’t been exaggerating. All signs pointed to an anxiety spike. Aziraphale reached out, gently grasping his partner’s arm. Only then did frantic golden eyes fall on him at last.</p><p>“Ah, hey there, angel,” Crowley muttered, pressing a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth before blustering by and making his way to the stove, where he divided his attention upon wrangling several different pots and pans containing various substances while simultaneously attempting to open the fridge with his foot. To Aziraphale’s wonder, he succeeded. </p><p>“Crowley, whatever has you so worked up?” the doctor marveled, knowing if he stepped into the fray he’d likely only stress the redhead out more. Just one more thing to manage. </p><p>“Not worked up.”</p><p>Crowley turned off the burners for the sauces, diving into the open refrigerator to snatch out a head of lettuce and a block of cheese and smack them on the counter. He turned a moment later, kicking the door back shut and making work of straining two different kinds of pasta. In the midst of all this, Aziraphale must have said his name at least ten times, each occasion falling upon deaf ears. </p><p>At last, he managed to get a firmer grip on him that the sneaky little serpent wasn’t able to slip out of, and pulled his whole body towards him, catching his other arm and holding him still in front of him. </p><p>“What’s the matter, Crowley?” </p><p>Crowley didn’t cede his gaze, instead allowing it to flicker about the kitchen in panic as he fisted a hand through what must have been meticulously styled hair at one point but now likened the result of a finger in a socket. </p><p>“I- I- I- I eh… burnt the croutons…” </p><p>“Alright, and?” </p><p>“And? <em> And? </em>Over half of them are useless now! The whole- whole- whole bloody ratio is off! There’s only a third of what there should be for the salad!” </p><p>“I understand. That must be terribly vexing. I know how detailed you are. Look at me, darling?” Aziraphale said patiently, maintaining his perfectly pleasant disposition. “Please, Anthony? Your eyes?” </p><p>He didn’t feel unprepared for this. Nor did he feel overwhelmed. Crowley had kept his word and discussed with his therapist how he might not leave Aziraphale in the dark concerning his anxiety, and, at Aziraphale’s request, talked through and settled on a game plan for ways his love could help in moments of distress. Regular acupressure massage was a great help. The most practical method outside that was talking Crowley through the practical outcomes of his concerns. Debunking the fallacies through logic without invalidating his emotions. </p><p>At last, mutated pupils landed on him, Crowley gazed at him helplessly, a mangled noise of distress dying in his throat, as if it was killing him to be held still. </p><p>“Right. So what will happen when this crouton shortage comes to light? Will there be an outrage? Will someone storm out? Could there possibly be a throwing of wine in your face like in those ridiculous reality shows you love?” </p><p>At last he drew an anxious laugh from the redhead, and Crowley grudgingly shook his head, “S’pose not... “ </p><p>Aziraphale hummed, and pulled him close, fondly reaching up to fix his hair, “What would a more likely outcome be, then?”</p><p>“Nothin’, probably, three out of five of ‘em don’t even eat salad... “ </p><p>“Right. So what’s all the fuss, love?” </p><p>“I.. I- I-,” Crowley started stammering again amidst his token noises of distress, shaking his head as his gaze drifted off again. Aziraphale gently brushed a finger under his chin, drawing his attention back. </p><p>“Ngk. I burnt the croutons,” he repeated. It seemed to be all his overloaded mind could manage to convey. </p><p>“Crowley, it’s perfectly normal to be nervous when introducing your partner to the important people in your life.”</p><p>“Nhhhh, what if you don’t like them?” </p><p>“Why wouldn’t I? Are they ill-intentioned? Do they mistreat you?”</p><p>“No! No, they’re- they mean well, but they’re a bit crass. Bit blunt. Rough around the edges. Have their own sordid histories.” </p><p>“Hmm, and I would <em> never </em>get along with anyone like that,” Aziraphale teased, delivering a dubious look in the direction of his crass, blunt, rough around the edges boyfriend. He slid his hands around his slim waist, pulling him closer.</p><p>Crowley huffed, barreling onto the next concern.</p><p>“It’s not like taking someone home to meet Mum and Dad. They’re going to interrogate the ever living fuck out of you, give you a hard time, tell you the most <em> embarrassing </em> things about me- especially <em> you- </em> I <em> see </em>you, Trix!” he accused, pointing a finger sporting glossy black nail lacquer at Bealz. The petite figure had abandoned their game and was practically lounged over the back of the sofa, watching in amusement with a cheek pressed against their forearm. </p><p>“Already told ‘im embarrassin’ things. Have done for months now,” they hummed with a bored expression as they pinched at the sofa upholstery.</p><p>A nervous noise slowly trickled from Crowley’s chest, and Aziraphale was quick to hush, “And yet here I am, never having adored you more. Beside that point, that is <em> exactly </em>what taking someone home to Mum and Dad is like.” </p><p>That drew pause. Crowley leveraged him with a tentative if not somewhat suspicious gaze. </p><p>“It is?”</p><p>“It is. I’ve survived it before. I can survive it again,” he flashed a comforting grin, “I rather think if anyone should bear the nerves for tonight, it ought to be me, yes?” </p><p>“Mmmmph….”</p><p>“And if embarrassing stories are what you’re worried about, I’d be happy to stay after, help you clean up, and share just as many of my own to make you feel better. Although I’m quite certain I’ll simply find you more endearing for whatever I learn.” </p><p>“Hmmm. Guess you have always liked my worst traits. Confounding, that.” </p><p>“Oh, yes, I’m quite the enigma, no? It’d have nothing to do with how lovable you are?” </p><p>Crowley snorted, at last flashing a somewhat calm grin. Aziraphale had long since captured his hands in his own to massage the pressure points there, and pulled him in for a sweet kiss. They parted and took a few long, slow breaths together. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Crowley didn’t need to be prompted, his angel had started pulling him into the act every time he was coming down from a spike in anxiety now. At last, he opened his eyes and gave a sheepish grin as gold gazed into blue. </p><p>“Hi.” </p><p>“Hello,” Aziraphale smirked back, delivering yet another soft kiss, “Better?” </p><p>“Better.” </p><p>“The crouton crisis has come to an end, then?” </p><p>“Let’s not go <em> crazy </em>here, angel. If it was over that easy then it wouldn’t be a crisis.” </p><p>“But we <em> will </em>survive it, I hope?” </p><p>“Perhaps, but I can’t promise there won’t be casualties.” </p><p>“Naturally,” the blonde teased, releasing Crowley at last now that he wasn’t worried about the wound up redhead running about with knives. Crowley cut and washed the lettuce and started up on making the salad dressing, working quite proficiently. “I won’t pretend I dare to get in your way in the kitchen, but perhaps I could help set the table? Set out a pitcher of water?” </p><p>“Oy! Trix!” the nurse shouted, clearly back in fine Crowley form, “Show ‘Zira where the dishes and utensils and stuff are!” </p><p>Aziraphale smiled in amusement. Typically, he loathed the shortening of his name and found it disrespectful that a person wasn’t willing to trudge through the entirety of it. With Crowley, though, he found it very endearing, and couldn’t be bothered by it in the least. Perhaps that’s how his love felt with Aziraphale calling him by his first name. </p><p>“Isn’ that just me settin’ the table, then?” Bea complained in a loud voice. </p><p>“Satan forbid you make yourself useful,” Crowley scoffed. </p><p>Beatrix made an obscenely loud groan as they flopped off the couch and onto their feet. Similar to the last time Aziraphale saw them outside of work, their outfit was greatly toned down, and they were clearly dressed for comfort, wearing camo joggers, combat boots, and a long-sleeved dark grey turtleneck crop top. They pointed to the correct cabinets, and upon receiving a strange look from Aziraphale explained, “He won’t trample <em> you </em>if you get in the way.” </p><p>It proved a fair enough assessment, and Bealz seemed to simply enjoy complaining, as they were quick and quiet about completing the task after. At one point, Crowley became consumed enough in his preparation that he resumed responding to questions and conversation with noncommittal “mmmh” and “yeah, yep”s. </p><p>“Ten outta ten, by the way. Well done, you,” Bealz offered after a time, just before clambering into a chair the way Aziraphale had never seen an adult human do. He looked at them, cloaked in curiosity and wondering if the comment had truly been meant for him. Now that he got a better view of them, they appeared almost sickly. Even thinner than their petite figure typically allowed for. The circles around their eyes were darker than usual, even with an obvious attempt of masking them with makeup. </p><p>“Pardon?” he inquired, assuming they certainly weren’t referring to setting the table. They didn’t quite strike him as the sort of person to hand out praise for menial tasks. </p><p>“Handling the doomsday business.” </p><p>“Oh- Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale said unsurely, realizing he’d been subjected to some sort of test. Of course after twenty… what was it? Twenty-seven years? Beatrix would be fully aware of how to get Crowley out of his head. They wanted to see how he’d handle it. Well, surely their favor was the most important to earn. Passing their little assessment was perhaps the best way to get off on the right foot with this night. </p><p>He was surprisingly lacking in nerves, and perhaps it was in light of already having overcome what he was sure would be the biggest hurdle in his and Crowley’s early relationship. They were stronger than ever now. If Crowley’s friends truly were like a family to him, they’d want someone who cared for and supported him, who could calm him down without shaming him for his feelings. Someone who didn’t admonish him for his wildness, but loved him for it, and helped him in feeling good about himself, too. Aziraphale was confident he could check all those boxes. </p><p>Crowley didn’t have a family, but he had a social circle that cared deeply for him. Aziraphale would jump through hoops of any height if it meant being accepted into it. </p><p>“Lazy buggers, always late,” Crowley sniped while tapping his fingernails impatiently on the granite countertop. </p><p>“Anything I should know in advance?” Aziraphale took the time to question, he and Beatrix both seating themselves at the island’s bar stools as Crowley focused on plating.</p><p>“They can smell out bullshit from a mile away. Just be genuine and they won’t bite,” Bealz offered before grinning and adding, “hard.” </p><p>“Oh, sod off, Bea,” Crowley chided, pulling the tea cloth off his shoulder to swat it at them. </p><p>As if on cue, the door opened, and Aziraphale was lost in a wild flurry of activity. An unusually tall and slightly terrifying man slapping him on the back. Four people talking to him at once. Bealz chortling out, “you were warned, Fell.” Busy chatter and shouting and pointing fingers and accusations followed by boisterous laughing until everyone was seated. Crowley sitting down and standing up again five times, getting everyone their assorted beverages. The redhead made a move to run yet again from the table.</p><p>“Sit down!” </p><p>“Get your arse back in the chair!” </p><p>“Bloody Hell, Crowley! Get back here!” </p><p>“Crowley!” </p><p>Several hands shot up, dragging Crowley back into his chair, much to Aziraphale’s amusement. It was nice to see he wasn’t the only one limiting his darling’s impulsive and borderline problematic selflessness. </p><p>“Hell’s bells, alright!” he hissed out, swatting the hands away and loading up his plate. “Everyone good?” </p><p>“I’m not sure. Anyone else notice there’s not an even ratio of croutons in the salad?” Aziraphale asked with an innocent smile.</p><p>“Oh shove off!” Crowley laughed, delivering a playful swat to his arm. </p><p>“So what’re your intentions, doctor man?” playfully purred the only woman in the room, a tall fitness goddess with hair even more fiery than Crowley’s. The words came out in a strong American accent. She wore a red leather jacket and allowed her tresses to cascade wherever they wished over her shoulders in a manner that should have appeared wild but instead looked very stylish. </p><p>Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes. Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer, having a certain and confident answer in mind, but was intervened by Beatrix. </p><p>“Fuck me, and Tony says <em> I’m </em>raised by wolves. Can’t you lot be bothered to introduce yourself before rippin’ the bloke apart?”</p><p>Aziraphale laughed, “It’s no trouble. Crowley’s told me quite a bit about you all, I’m certain I can distinguish each of you.” </p><p>“Oh yeah?” The small albino figure at the table mumbled through a mouth full of garlic bread. He had a quiet, laid back, observant disposition, but seemed to take interest at the idea. “Go on, then.” </p><p>“You don’t have to do that,” Crowley reassured him, shooting a glance of annoyance at his friends. </p><p>“What, you don’t have faith in me, darling?” </p><p>“Huh? No-,” Crowley rushed, turning to explain before finding a teasing grin on Aziraphale’s face. He snorted, rolling his eyes and flapping his hand before gathering a serving of pasta. The blonde took that as a go-ahead. </p><p>“I’d imagine your Weiss,” he offered, “A photographer, yes? I’ve been interested to see your work. Is there anything particular you enjoy capturing?”</p><p>Pale blue eyes widened in intrigue, and they gave him a slightly bone-chilling smile, “That’s right. I’ll have to show you some. Mostly I enjoy capturing what humanity has left behind. Nature reclaiming industrial corruption. Dilapidated buildings. Landfills. Abandoned amusement parks. That sort of thing. I enjoy bullying Crowley into modeling for me sometimes.” </p><p>“That’s true,” Crowley huffed, dropping his chin on a palm, “‘bullying’ is the right word. No way I voluntarily roll around on the filthy floor of condemned buildings.” </p><p>“Please, we all know you like the attention,” teased an impossibly slender brown-skinned man with a toothy grin. Only salad was piled onto his plate, he seemed to abstain from the pasta. </p><p>Aziraphale turned his attention to him, ignoring Crowley’s pouting, “And you must be Sable, yes? The dietitian?” </p><p>“That’s right.” </p><p>“And that only leaves Faust and Carmine, of course. I’ve heard Faust is the head of this little family. I’m not actually quite sure what you do, Carmine. I’ve heard many conflicting stories, all quite alarming in nature,” he said honestly, pausing to twist the ring on his pinky. Truly, he was charismatic enough to get along with nearly anybody. Still, he was eager to make a good impression. For the most part he had no tells with anxiety. Still his boyfriend reached over, scooting his nearly untouched food towards him. Aziraphale smiled sheepishly, picking up his fork to dig into the pasta Crowley had made from scratch.</p><p>“You ever seen the movie Jackass?” Crowley continued the conversation with a grin.</p><p>“Oh shut it,” Carmine responded, giving a sharp-toothed smile and knocking his foot beneath the table before turning her intense stare back to Aziraphale. Crowley hadn’t exaggerated, the lot of them were a pill to swallow. “I’m a stunt actress. Though I suppose what Crowley here was trying to get at is that I like to… hmm, explore the realm that none before me have dared to. Get a rush from the danger.” </p><p>“So a jackass,” her fellow redhead tacked on, “but you’re right, angel. We’re all here thanks to Faust.” </p><p>“Mmm, been some time since our most recent addition,” the massive, intimidating man grumbled. “Must have been when Carmine moved here… what, eight years ago?” </p><p>“That’s right,” she confirmed. </p><p>“Met Weiss through a group that connected fellow German speakers decades ago. Sable through rehab. Then Bea and I met through the curioso circuit.” </p><p>“Faust here’s a coroner, how wicked is that?” Bea growled excitedly, hovering over their food like a vulture from where they were perched. </p><p>Aziraphale looked at the towering man, with his dark eyes and terrifying demeanor, and couldn’t think of a job better suited for him that wasn’t illegal. </p><p>“Maybe he can examine you, looking more and more like a corpse every day,” Weiss took a dig at the surgeon. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, surprised at the sudden turn of hostility. No one at the table batted an eye, completely unbothered. Faust and Sable raised their heads in intrigue, as if settling in for a show. </p><p>Bealz simply gave a toothy grin in turn, “That’s some shade you're throwing Caspar the horny-ass ghost.” </p><p>Carmine came to his defense, “My Chemical Romance called, Bea, they say you’re seven years too late.” </p><p>Bealz barked out a laugh. </p><p>“Carmine, you look like Ru Paul just told your fake-eyebrowed, foundation-line-on-your-neck ass to sashay the hell away ,” Crowley dug at her with a smirk. The table was erupted into giggles now</p><p>“Please. Mate, you look like a gay giraffe that got sent to Hell but got kicked out for being <em> too </em> gay,” Bealz jabbed through their sniggering. </p><p>“Alright, off to the mirror with you and your Kim-Possible-lookin’-ass self,” he squeaked back through his laughter. </p><p>They looked down at their outfit, snorted, and cracked up, joining the rest of the whole lot in hysterics. Aziraphale maybe understood a small fraction of the references made. Just when he was beginning to question the appeal of being insulted by friends, he remembered his and Winger’s relationship wasn’t so entirely different and grinned. It was nice to see Crowley like this. So laid back as he sprawled out in his chair as conversation dwindled on easily. Not a pair of sunglasses in sight. An easy, unanxious grin on his face as he spun some angel hair pasta around his fork. Aziraphale had been heavily enjoying his meal, trying to tamper down his noises to a minimum. Crowley looked as pleased as if he’d praised him, watching happily as he sipped his wine beside him. </p><p>“So then, Aziraphale, back to the question at hand. What you want with Crowley?” Carmine set in again. She seemed the most actively protective of him by far, though Aziraphale could surmise by the way the table went quiet that she wasn’t the only to care for his answer. Bealz rolled their eyes. Evidently, they had made their opinion on him already. Aziraphale was inclined to hope it was a positive one. </p><p>“Must we do this?” Crowley huffed. </p><p>“We must,” Weiss hummed back, “The turnover gets tiring.”</p><p>This upset the redhead a great deal more than the playful jabs that had just been exchanged previously. He grimaced, furrowing his brows at the injustice. </p><p>“There’s not- I don’t- We’re serious, yeah? I’m not messing around with this!” he erupted in irritation. He paled upon realizing his own words, turning anxiously to Aziraphale, who offered a calming, warm smile and reached to squeeze his hand, instantly succeeding in soothing him. </p><p>“Nor am I. I care very deeply for Crowley. I don’t believe I want anything from him other than the same respect and communication I give him. I’d very much like to keep him happy, to make his life easier and more relaxed, and keep him safe,” he said honestly, enjoying the soft, swirling galaxies in Crowley’s wide, vulnerable eyes as they looked at each other. At last, he tore his gaze away to grin at his friends, “It would seem you’d all know better than anybody how inclined towards recklessness he is.” </p><p>They all laughed at once. Crowley smirked and gave a helpless shrug. </p><p>“Okay, so we <em> may </em>enable that. A little bit,” Carmine yielded, pinching her fingers. </p><p>“Not exactly like he’s obedient,” Sable chortled. </p><p>Aziraphale was amused at that. He found Crowley was very eager to please. Trusting the doctor to be in control of situations, knowing he had it handled, it seemed to help the redhead let go of some of that constant anxiety. To relax. Feel safe. It made the both of them feel happy and comfortable in their relationship, though there was yet to be a proper conversation about the boundaries of it all. </p><p>Conversation came very easily after that. It appeared that the interrogation was a very short process and the group was not a very demanding one. Aziraphale supposed it made sense. Crowley was clearly happy. Clearly comfortable. He was honored to be trusted to keep him feeling that way in their relationship. </p><p>The redhead hadn’t been exaggerating in his warnings. The group was loud and crude and rough around the edges, but they were supportive of one another, upbeat, in wonderful humor, and more than welcoming. </p><p>At one point, Crowley moved to stand, and the table erupted in objections yet again. </p><p>“Christ on a fucking cracker, am I not allowed to use the loo?” </p><p>“Hmmm, I suppose we’ll allow it,” Bea teased, exchanging their two fingers between their eyes and his, <em> “for now.”  </em></p><p>The redhead snorted and rolled his eyes, turning to head off towards the bathroom. </p><p>“So,” Carmine hummed, resting her chin on a well-manicured hand, “here’s your chance, Fell.” </p><p>“My chance, is it?” he asked, raising a brow as he sipped at his wine, “Whatever for?” </p><p>“Crowley facts, duh,” Bealz offered with a grin. </p><p>“Oh, I certainly wouldn’t mind learning some trivia. Do share.” </p><p>The group fell to silence for a moment as they thought. </p><p>“I’ve never seen him hold a baby without crying over how ‘cute’ they are,” Bea informed with a snicker. </p><p>“He’s a human jukebox. Swear to Satan he knows every single song written after 1970 by heart,” Faust offered. </p><p>“Hmmm, what is there? He's Scottish and thinks he's good at hiding it. What else? I can only think of things I'm sure you already know,” Carmine huffed, "He's a Cancer. A terrible dancer. Nonbinary-" </p><p>“Nonbinary?” Aziraphale repeated, genuinely surprised at that one. Perhaps the signs had been there, but who was he to assume? “Are his- I mean, are the pronouns I’ve been using alright?” </p><p>Carmine didn't seem like the type of person capable of shame, but she did give him a long, tight-lipped look before spitting, "Shit." </p><p>“It's fine. Tony told me he knew after they went out the first time. 'Course his blackout drunk arse wouldn't remember properly," Bealz threw at her before turning to Aziraphale, "and yeah, he doesn’t give a shit what pronouns you use for ‘im. He/they/she, whatever goes."</p><p>The blonde fell into himself a bit at that, contemplation weighing heavy on him. </p><p>“That’s not a problem, is it?” Bealz asked. For the first time, he heard a cold, aggressive might in their tone that froze straight down to his heart. </p><p>Aziraphale wasn’t easily intimidated, but at last, he realized why nearly every soul in the hospital bent over backwards to avoid upsetting Beatrix Bealz. He shook his head eagerly, “No! No, of course not! I was just… simply wondering why he wouldn’t tell me.” </p><p>“Same reason he didn’t tell you about his baggage. Scared of you rejecting him,” they said flatly. Despite their physical demeanor remaining unchanged, he somehow understood the danger was gone. They found his response acceptable. </p><p>“But,” Weiss hummed with a grin, “that’s why you’ve met us now. We’ll help you figure out that slippery serpent’s secrets. Trust. He’s not nearly as sneaky as he thinks he is.”</p><p>Sable jumped in, “He’s good at tempting, sure you know that, but he’s shite at rejecting temptations, too. To say he’s weak to peer pressure would be a severe understatement. Could talk him into willingly doing anything.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s a good one,” Weiss shot back, “His only fears are these ridiculous hypotheticals. Sensible things? Car crashes, heights, drowning, mouthing off to someone who could destroy him? Fearless.” </p><p>“No need for him to be afraid of drowning now that I’m teaching him how to swim,” Carmine argued. </p><p>“He’s learning how to swim?” Aziraphale asked in absolute delight. </p><p>“Awwh, c’mon you lot! Learn how to keep a bloody secret,” Crowley huffed, returning to his seat. </p><p>“You’ve been swimming!” the blonde repeated again, still suspended in excited disbelief. </p><p>“I would say calling it ‘swimming’ would be exceedingly generous,” Carmine replied, amusement in her tone.</p><p>“Oy! ‘S not drownin’ is it? I can stay afloat well enough. Swim around a bit,” Crowley pouted as he melted into his chair and crossed his arms, appearing greatly offended. </p><p>“Doggy paddling is <em> not </em>swimming,” she argued back.</p><p>Greatly in danger of entering a pouting state from which Aziraphale knew Crowley would be reluctant to emerge, he took his hand and squeezed it, smiling brightly, “That’s absolutely lovely, darling. I’m ever so proud of you.” </p><p>A soft, eager smile spread across Crowley’s face at the praise, as if they were the sweetest words to ever be bestowed upon him. </p><p>“Now that makes sense,” Sable snarked, “always a bit of a slut for approval, aren’t we, Crowley?” </p><p>“Come off it,” Bealz warned with surprising conviction, and without hesitation, he did. Aziraphale was glad for them. For their closeness with Crowley. For their understanding that he should never be shamed for having his needs met, especially when they were so pure and authentic. Aziraphale would never once feel taxed to deliver praise and sweet words to Crowley, not when they fed his spirits so well. </p><p>Not that Crowley wasn’t entirely off the hook. The group giddily slid into sharing embarrassing stories. Some Crowley were very proud of, others made him bury his face into his hands as if death might take him, were he to sit still enough. Bealz was just telling a story about teenage Crowley falling out of a second-story window without his trousers on when trying to escape a boy’s parents after they’d arrived home early. He’d broken his arm and wound up toted back to the group home with the boy’s father gripping him by the arm. They distinctly described their recollection of the door being opened and seeing Crowley there in the cold March weather, clutching his jacket over himself to cover his naked form.</p><p>At that point, Crowley decided he’d had rather enough of that, and bullied his friends into helping him tidy up a bit. Aziraphale attempted to stand and help, but was firmly pressed down into his seat by a defiant redhead. When Sable whined about him getting special treatment, Crowley justified it by saying, “Well he’s not been an arse. Doesn’t deserve punishment, does he?” </p><p>No one could quite argue with that, so they made quick work of tidying the absurdly modern space before more drinks were poured and they sat down for poker. Aziraphale warned them all up front that he was a terrible liar. He’d fully expected Crowley was as well, but had overlooked the redhead’s impeccable ability to read other people. They played with petty cash, though Crowley won nearly every other round, if not more. The group laughed and jeered and occasionally fought, though it appeared that Faust and Beatrix were responsible for leading the lot of them and were well trained in knowing when to step in. At the last round, Sable appeared very confident in his hand, pushing in the whole pot. Everyone but Crowley folded. Sable revealed a straight. Crowley revealed a full house. A very heated argument in French started up. Bealz quickly extinguished it with a finger in Sable’s face and a gruff voice from which more of the language slipped. </p><p>Crowley made a smug little show of scooping the money towards himself, but when all was said and done and goodbyes were shared, Aziraphale didn’t miss the sneaky serpent slipping folded notes back into Sable’s pocket in passing.</p><p>The front door shut with a finality, and Aziraphale heard a sharp puff of air escape Crowley. He shoved his hands into his pockets, propping against the counter and smiling nervously. </p><p>“So, uh. Regretting everything now? They scare you off?” </p><p>The blonde stopped himself from teasing, from rolling his eyes, and instead approached Crowley, sliding his hands around his slim waist and pulling him close. </p><p>“Of course not, you silly thing,” he pressed a slow, languid kiss to Crowley’s mouth that left the redhead happy and humming, “I love you and I want you.” </p><p>Crowley’s smile grew, and he wrapped an arm over Aziraphale’s shoulder, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone before sliding his hand through his hair, “I love you too, angel.” </p><p>“Dinner was absolutely divine. What a talented little chef you are.”</p><p>“Glad you liked it, angel,” the redhead hummed happily, leaning forth to kiss his partner. He appeared to recall at the last moment that they hadn’t discussed the matter fully yet, and cleared his throat, playfully pushing the doctor away with fingers splayed against his chest, “but you shan’t distract me. C’mon, really. What’d you think?” </p><p>“I think I have no idea what you were so worried about. I very much enjoy meeting people from different walks of life, and I have a great appreciation for how much they love you.” </p><p>“Bleeeeech don’t <em> say </em>that!”</p><p>“Say what?” </p><p>“They don’t <em> love </em>me.” </p><p>Aziraphale gave him an amused, dubious look, “Crowley. You’ve been friends for fifteen years. I understand opening up to people and allowing them to care for you incites anxiety, but I’m fairly certain the point is moot.” </p><p>The redhead grinned and rolled his eyes, “Yeahhh well. How about Bea?”</p><p>“They were rather quiet, really. Based on our previous encounters, I truly expected a bit more grief or ribbing or… something. Are they well?” </p><p>“No. They’re- they’re <em> brooding. </em> ‘S fine though. They like you. For me. I mean. They told me so, and that’s kind of a big deal because… because they never like <em> anyone </em>for me. ‘S not a thing that happens. I know they can be a bit intense. Especially when they’re mopey. They scare you off?” </p><p>“Not at all,” Aziraphale insisted truthfully, following after Crowley as he passed into the dining room and aiding him in collecting empty glasses and beer bottles. “I’m glad you have someone that looks out for you when I’m not around.” </p><p>Crowley slowed in his actions, then turned on the sink, busying him with washing up the wine glasses. He was quiet for a time, and Aziraphale wondered if he’d perhaps put his foot in his mouth. He took a seat at the island, watching his love intently until amber eyes finally caught his and quickly pivoted away. The nurse nervously cleared his throat. </p><p>“They always will be. Here, I mean.” </p><p>The doctor tilted his head in curiosity, waiting for Crowley to elaborate. When he didn’t, he decided to initiate the conversation. </p><p>“You can talk to me Crowley- about whatever’s bothering you. I’d very much prefer you did.” </p><p>The freckled face remained turned downwards until there were no more dishes to wash. Crowley dried out the inside of the last glass, setting it down with a light ‘clink’ atop the granite counter before ceding his nervous gaze to Aziraphale at last. </p><p>“I… meant what I said, when I explained that it’s… it’s not possible to understand what Beatrix and I have,” he sighed, leaning over to cross his arms on the countertop and run a hand through the back of his hair, “but it’s only fair that you understand what goes along with it. We’re- well, we’re closer than a lot of married couples, I reckon. Share a bed on bad nights. Cuddle. Tell each other everything, no matter how trivial. Consult one another before making any kind of big decision. It’s a kind of intimacy that’s hard to grasp for most people, really. It’s just… important to me that you know. No matter how much I loved someone. How close we got. If we hypothetically… you know, whatever, ran off into the stars together, there would always be Beatrix. That will never- never <em> not </em>be the foundation of my life. We were prepared, you see. Had an- an agreement. That even if we never found the right person- and neither of us would ever settle for the wrong one- that we’d always be life partners.”  </p><p>Aziraphale was grateful they’d just played poker, perhaps it made him a bit more proficient at hiding the jealousy that unfolded within him. He wasn’t angry. Not really. Far be it from him to judge a relationship where they only had each other, no family, scarce friends, through decades of time. They experienced trauma together. Survived together. Of course they were so close. Of course they’d never part. </p><p>An unsure, mangled noise slipped from Crowley, and he carried on, “But that doesn’t… doesn’t mean I don’t have any more love to give, or that I can’t be a good partner. I do. And I can. Truly. I mean.”</p><p>He let out an exasperated sigh, buried his face in his hands, hunched his shoulders, “fuck. This is why I got so scared before when you asked. I know- I <em> know, </em>realistically, that if you don’t believe me when I say it’s not romantic, there’s nothing I can do to change it but- but-” </p><p>He took his hands down, looking desperately at Aziraphale, “I really do love you. Not like I’ve ever loved anyone before. Not like I love Trix. I just need you to understand-”</p><p>“I do understand,” Aziraphale said, warmly but firmly.</p><p>Crowley froze, eyeing him up in nervous disbelief. </p><p>“You do?”</p><p>“I do.” </p><p>Another pause.</p><p>“And you’re… okay with it?” </p><p>“Crowley. I love you. I accept you. I want you. How could I possibly mean all those sentiments and subsequently ask you to change the fundamental aspects of your life? I want you to feel secure, happy, and loved, in all parts of your life.</p><p>He was greeted with a dumbfounded expression.</p><p>“Er… really?” he asked stupidly before flushing and shaking his head, “Don’t mean to doubt you it’s just- usually people are a bit jealous.”</p><p>“Oh, I am. Extremely.” </p><p>Crowley was completely nonplussed now, shrouded in a cloud of uncertainty. </p><p>“So? It is a problem?”</p><p>“No,” Aziraphale laughed, reaching out over the island for Crowley’s hands. He received them, admiring the shiny lacquer on their fingernails, only accessorized on the weekends. “My jealousy is my problem, love. Not yours. It’s my project to work on. I don’t want you ever thinking you need to take responsibility for it. I want to enrich your life. Never to spoil it.” </p><p>The redhead shook his head, releasing an amazed laugh. He leaned over the island, meeting Aziraphale halfway for a sweet kiss. </p><p>His voice went low and sultry, “I’m sure I could help <em> a bit. </em>Give you my singular attention.” </p><p>“Oh yes?” Aziraphale grinned, “Is that an invitation to spend the night?” </p><p>“Surely if you know me well enough to decide you love me, you know me well enough to do so?” he asked, hope dripping from every word.</p><p>“Absolutely,” he purred without skipping a beat.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aziraphale's gotten the family's (and most importantly, the Garbage Opossum's)  blessing. I think you guys can guess what happens next ;3 </p><p>Part two is finished and will be posted within the next couple days :D As always, thank you SO much for the comments and kudos. You guys are amazing &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3 </p><p>Today's rec is Texts From an Unknown Number by GaryOldman, it's a completed fic that's exactly what it sounds like! Aziraphale meets Crowley when texting the wrong number~ A cute, light, fluffy slow burn that I like very much.<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/21422644/chapters/51041701</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. First Impressions Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Practically radiating a gleaming excitement, Crowley stepped away, scampering off to the bedroom and shouting over his shoulder, “Right! Stay right here, need to tidy a bit!” </p><p>Aziraphale sounded a low chuckle at his boyfriend’s enthusiasm, taking a turn about the kitchen and looking at the photos stuck to the fridge at last. There was a lovely one of the group he’d just dined with, all squatting down low in a dark tavern with helmets on their heads and wide grins on their faces. He moved on to a photo of a young, fresh-faced Crowley. Still freckled. Still golden-eyed. Grinning madly with his arm slung around Bealz, the pair of them in university graduation regalia. Then another at what he assumed to be Beatrix’s white coat ceremony. One was simply a picture of a potted plant. One was what appeared to be a dilapidated building, Crowley was in front of a massive, ornate, circular, partially-broken stained glass window, balanced on his forearms to the ground with his back beautifully arched and his legs artfully posed overhead. One of Weiss’s photos, he felt safe to assume. The last was Beatrix, Crowley, Carmine, and Sable huddled together in front of the Arc de Triomphe, dressed for cold weather.</p><p>He pulled at a picture of Crowley, sitting in a greenhouse and grinning as he held a fat, happy orange cat. The fifties housewife magnet that held it and read “Amazingly enough, I don’t give a shit” fell from the fridge. Aziraphale leaned down to pluck it up, spotting the corner of something else under the refrigerator, he slid the long strip of paper out and flipped it, finding it to be another prize from a photo booth. In it, Crowley was cuddled up with a beautiful woman with dark black and purple braids. Her skin was brown with white blotches patterned out in a lovely manner. Vitiligo, Aziraphale identified. The pair were smiling and laughing in the photos. Crowley even had his glasses off. His eyes scanned down the paper until he reached the last one, where the couple were kissing through smiles. </p><p>“Crowley,” he called, subconsciously noting the familiar form in the hallway shoving sheets into the washing machine. </p><p>“Whassit, angel?” he hummed, meandering up behind him, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, and tucking his chin over his shoulder. His body went stock still, and the blonde figured it was fair to assume he’d seen the object in his hands. His voice went soft and quiet. “Oh.” </p><p>“Who’s this?” Aziraphale asked without a trace of jealousy. Obviously, it was an ex, but the manner in which Crowley reacted piqued his curiosity further. </p><p>“That’s, uhm… Lilith. My most recent ex. I mean- it was a year or so ago, but- y’know. Didn’t know I still had that.” </p><p>Aziraphale felt the cool, slender body slip away, and Crowley took the strip of photo paper from him, scanning it with what appeared to be guilt. </p><p>“It ended poorly, then?” he asked sympathetically, raising his hand to take Crowley’s. The guilt deepened. </p><p>“Yes, but- I’m to blame really. I’ve put it on her all this time but after… you know, last week, I’ve been coming to terms with the fact that it’s my fault. I did the same thing to her that I did to you. Twisted her words. Ran away. Said such awful things. She didn’t deserve that.”</p><p>A silence passed, and Aziraphale squeezed his fingers, grounding him. </p><p>“That’s a terrible burden to bear, love.”</p><p>They stood in silence for a time, the doctor allowing Crowley to think things through. At last, lost amber eyes found him, looking into his own blue pair as if they held the answer. </p><p>“What should I do?” </p><p>He raised his brows the slightest bit. “You want my advice?” </p><p>“No- no I- I want you to tell me what to do.” </p><p>The brows furrowed, and he pursed his lips, “Crowley?”</p><p>He was greeted with a desperate, yearning look. The photos were set aside. His broad hands were taken in slender ones. He was hypnotized by the nature of the universe behind those searching amber eyes. Crowley appeared just as nervous as he was hopeful, and <em> oh </em>was he hopeful. </p><p>“Aziraphale,” he began, “You once suggested that I… I behave for someone who acted authoritatively for me. Who took control so I don’t have to. Who came up with rewards and punishments on behalf of my ultimate happiness and well-being.” </p><p>“Anthony,” he breathed, heart picking up its pace, thundering in his ear.</p><p>“I don’t know what I need, Aziraphale. I think that’s clear- I think I’ve proven time and time again that I need… I need guidance. A firm hand in my life. I need you to take control so I can- can just focus on breathing. Being. I’d feel safer. Happier. I know I would and I know I want it to be you. Only you, but I just- did you <em> mean </em>it?” </p><p>He grew choked up, sliding into Aziraphale’s arms, curling his fingers around his back, pressing their foreheads together, whispering the words like a prayer. </p><p>Aziraphale measured his breathing despite the excited adrenaline slamming his system like a car into a brick wall. </p><p>“Of course I meant it, darling,” he sighed, “But that’s- that’s a big ask. I hope you understand. I only want the best for you.”</p><p>“I know,” Crowley laughed, “I know, that’s why I want it- need it. I don’t know what’s best for me. You do. I know you do.”</p><p>“What are your limits?” </p><p>“No limits.”</p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished softly, brushing a hand over Crowley’s slender throat, feeling the racing pulse beneath his fingertips, “Everyone has limits.” </p><p>Crowley shook his head, “You wouldn’t push them. You know what’s good for me. You know what I need. I trust you, angel.” </p><p>Aziraphale’s breath hitched. He worked his jaw, fighting to keep calm. Keeping himself from scooping Crowley over his shoulder and carrying him off to the bedroom to toss him on the mattress ravish him until he was speaking gibberish. </p><p>
  <em> Easy now, there are important matters at hand left to be discussed.  </em>
</p><p>“Let’s sit down then, darling,” he encouraged. Crowley hesitated for a moment, but in the end he agreed with a nod of his head. </p><p>Aziraphale needed to clear his head. Total power exchange was nothing to sneeze at. He’d done it before. He’d kept men happy, at least until they decided what they needed wasn’t fun enough. That they wanted something demoralizing or dangerous or self-harming that Aziraphale would never do. But this was Crowley. The most precious person he’d ever met. If he got this right, his darling would feel safer and happier than he’d ever felt before. If he got it wrong… if Crowley grew tired of his meticulous love and gentle care and left… well, that was a heartbreak he wasn’t sure he’d survive.</p><p>It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. He did. More than he wanted fine cuisines or valuable books. He could revolutionize Crowley’s life, be the caretaker he’d never had even in his childhood. Yet something told him that for all his big talk, Crowley hadn’t attempted this arrangement before despite whatever aspects of power play he’d experienced in his life. Who was there, other than Aziraphale, that Crowley could possibly trust with play outside the bedroom? He wasn’t dipping his toe into the arrangement, he was leaping in with blind hope. Armed with this knowledge, Aziraphale felt urged to tread carefully. Be patient. Make no assumptions.</p><p>Aziraphale led them into the bedroom, cursing the immediate, distracting sight of the bottle of lubricant sitting on the bedside table, and pulled Crowley to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. </p><p>“I feel you’re not grasping the gravity of the arrangement you’re suggesting.”</p><p>Crowley huffed, losing patience now, “I’m not a child, Aziraphale. I know exactly what I’m asking. You said it yourself, I need it.” </p><p>“Yes, but Anthony,” he said gently, watching Crowley settle at the sound of his first name out of Aziraphale’s mouth. His fingers brushed over the more slender set in his grasp, “Punishment isn’t always fun. Just because you need it doesn’t mean you want it. It’s a tedious line, and your consent matters more than me to anything.” <br/><br/>Crowley opened his mouth to impart a cheeky retort, but for once, seemed to think better of it.</p><p>“You wouldn’t punish me if I didn’t need it or deserve it,” Crowley argued, “I may not be happy about it, but if it’s what you’ve decided is good for me, then you have my consent.” </p><p>Aziraphale grumbled a noise of discontent, pulling away and becoming lost in anxious thought. His gaze traveled towards the wall and fixed on a- was that an <em> opossum in a scarf?  </em></p><p>A squeeze to his hand called him back, and he turned to meet Crowley’s eyes. </p><p>“How about colors? We can do those, yeah? If you’re worried, you can ask, and if I’m uncomfortable, I can use them.”</p><p>“You mean the traffic light system?” Aziraphale elaborated with a raised brow, wondering if it was perhaps pretentious to worry over Crowley’s past exploits now. He did need to know of his experiences. He needed to know where to take time and caution. Where to elaborate. How long to let Crowley chew on things. “As in, green is good to go, yellow is let’s pause and talk, and red means calling it to an immediate stop and going straight to aftercare?</p><p>“Is there a different color system?” Crowley began to tease, but noticed the frustration returning to Aziraphale’s face. “I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to make sure things are safe. I appreciate that. I need to give you what you need, too, and that’s communication. I can do that. I promise. I’m not asking you to tell me what to eat or how to dress, not unless the food will destroy my stomach and the outfit will break me out in a rash. And maybe it’s selfish of me, or- or too much to ask you to take care of me-” </p><p>“It’s not. Crowley, it’s not. It’s what I want, truly, but- but you’re sure? You’re not simply trying to appease me? It’s not something you’ll regret tomorrow? You want this too?”</p><p>Crowley looked surprised at the question. Ever so slowly, he slid into a sultry, wicked grin, sliding his hand under the fabric of Aziraphale’s waistcoat and rubbing seductively at the flesh of his chest through his shirt, “To be deemed worthy of your care and protection? Under your charge? I can’t think of anything I would desire more. I’ve wanted it ever since that night. Ever since you took those cigarettes out of my hand and threw them in the bin. I want to be the subject of your love.”</p><p>“Alright,” Aziraphale breathed, keeping his voice low, “but I’ll be needing proper boundaries before we do anything too adventurous and if I’m to punish you safely. Sooner would be better than later. I’d like to know more about your experience with power play, as well. Get a feel for what you enjoy and what you’re accustomed to.”</p><p>”Can’t that wait ‘til later?” Crowley huffed.</p><p>Aziraphale gauged him with a wide, soft look. His poor darling looked as if he might combust were he not touched properly.</p><p>”Alright.”</p><p>Crowley looked so light and carefree that he might just have been able to walk on water.</p><p>“Alright?!”</p><p>“Alright.” </p><p>Crowley dove in for a passionate kiss, but Aziraphale slowly pushed him away, fixing him with a gentle but assertive look. </p><p>“We have one last thing to talk about.”</p><p>The redhead flopped back on the bed, groaning dramatically and scrubbing his face. </p><p>“So much <em> talking!”  </em></p><p>“Really? You’re going to be a brat straight out of the gate?” </p><p>Crowley moved his hands to cede a mischievous grin at Aziraphale, tugging at his arm until the broader figure laid down next to him at last. Together they adjusted towards the headboard, and Crowley cuddled up to his side, setting one hand on his chest and propping his own head up on the other. He hummed, sweetly nuzzling his cheek and laying a kiss there before pulling away to look at him. </p><p>“Alright. If you need to talk more, we’ll talk more.” </p><p>“Hmph,” Aziraphale affirmed, adjusting to get more comfortable and gazing up at his handsome darling. “Why is sex triggering for you?” </p><p>Crowley froze. He stayed still for so long Aziraphale wondered if he thought he’d lose sight of him if he didn’t move. When it didn’t work, when blue eyes remained fixed on that freckled face, a puzzled look crossed it. </p><p>“What are you-? I dunno what you’re on about, angel. I love sex, and I’m <em> aching </em>for you to fuck me. You said you wanted to wait, so- so we did. That’s all.” </p><p>“Yes, but-,” Aziraphale sighed and paused to adjust his position, rolling onto his size to face Crowley and propping his own head up before running his hand up and down Crowley’s waist. He needed it- touch. Physical reassurance that he was loved and wanted despite the conversation. “You once told me that you run from relationships after they’re consummated. That you’d rather ‘preserve the good memories and spare them the rest’. I sense I got that treatment early, but I don’t want you feeling insecure in our relationship.”</p><p>Crowley paled to a sickly extent and moved to sit up, to turn away. Aziraphale gave him a stern pull back down, and it proved to be a good choice. The redhead snuggled close, burying his face in the doctor’s neck. It took him a while to speak again.</p><p>“I told you I won’t run away from you again.” </p><p>“But you would want to. You’d have doubts.” </p><p>“No…”</p><p>It didn’t sound certain enough for Aziraphale’s comfort. </p><p>“Darling, do you believe me when I say that I love you and I want you?” </p><p>Crowley pulled away to look up at him, to show his earnestness, “Yes. Yes, I believe you, Aziraphale.” </p><p>“And do you believe me when I say that won’t change overnight?” </p><p>He didn’t receive the same confident response. Crowley rested his head on the pillow, letting his gaze wander as his adam’s apple battled up and down. At last, he confessed in a broken voice, “I want to.” </p><p>“But you don’t, and that’s alright. It’s alright, Crowley. I’m not cross. I promised you I’ll tell you every day until you believe it and every day after, and I meant it,” he hushed, crowding in close to run his hand soothingly up and down Crowley’s back and lay sweet kisses against his forehead, “Does sex have something to do with your anxiety that those facts will change?” </p><p>A long pause passed of Crowley avoiding his gaze, eyes growing watery as he played with Aziraphale’s bowtie. At last he croaked, eyes still locked on the fabric, “It’s easier to want me if you haven’t had me yet.” </p><p>“Oh. Oh, darling,” Aziraphale sighed, lifting Crowley’s chin and locking him into a soft kiss. He racked his brain for ideas on the best way to handle this. The most effective way to show his love for Crowley without inviting that fear forth to play. “To what does that fear apply? All sex? Oral sex? Penetrative sex?” </p><p>Crowley let out a long whine, burying half his face in the pillow, “Ugh. Sounds so bloody pathetic to say out loud. LIke I’m a fucking blushing virgin.”</p><p>“Crowley,” his partner said sternly, “your boundaries aren’t pathetic. They’re deserving of respect. Eventually, you’ll be comfortable enough in our relationship to believe that I won’t stop wanting you once I have you, but we’ll never get there if you’re not honest with me. We won’t do anything until we discuss this.” </p><p>Crowley pouted, mumbling incoherently into the fabric below his head.</p><p>“Sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale asked. </p><p>A large huff greeted him in response, and Crowley looked at the ceiling. </p><p>“Receiving penetrative sex. Fingers and toys don’t count it’s just-,” he paused, pursing his lips to the side before grinning and looking at the ceiling. He shrugged a shoulder up and down, “I’m <em> really </em>good at it. I wasn’t lying about how good I am with my hips.” </p><p>“Well,” Aziraphale gave a low hum, leaning forth to lay a hot and heavy kiss upon his lips, stealing Crowley’s breath away before pulling away. His hands indulgently squeezed Crowley’s arse, lifting him close to grind a leg between slender thighs. He growled into his ear, “that leaves us quite a bit of room to play. Let’s get a wiggle on, yes?” </p><p>Crowley planted a hand on his chest and jerked back, eyes wildly searching to assert his seriousness before a mad grin flashed across his face, “Really?” </p><p>“Would I lie to you?” </p><p>“No more talking?” </p><p>“You want more? I suppose I’ve been eager for a partner in which to share a conversation about Edwardian literature-“</p><p>The smile got impossibly bigger before the redhead laughed, “absolutely not,” and dove back in, cutting him off and moaning excitedly as he pushed Aziraphale onto his back and flipped on top of him. He kissed him hard and passionately, fingers fast at work to unbutton the waistcoat. Strong hands caught his own, and Aziraphale tutted. </p><p>“You first, darling.” </p><p>The grin grew more sultry, and Crowley tilted his chin down to look at Aziraphale through his lashes in a way he’d only done once before.</p><p>Well<em> that </em>should be illegal. </p><p>The redhead grabbed his waistcoat in his fist, coaxing him forth to sit on the edge of the bed and doing it so seductively that Aziraphale didn’t mind the rough treatment of the antique garment. He wiggled out of his shirt slowly, just barely rocking his hips to one side and sliding a shoulder in the other in such a fashion that the doctor was starving for each glimpse more of freckled flesh, inch by inch. His mouth watered, his pulse quickened, he spotted soft pink nipples, sharp sun-kissed collarbones, that long, slender neck, and then at last the shirt was off. Crowley undid his belt a bit quicker, but ripped it out of the belt loops with a cracking snap before dropping to the floor and moving his hands to his trousers. </p><p>Aziraphale was rapt, pupils blown wide and fixed on Crowley’s hands as if they were unveiling the seven wonders of the world. He’d not seen Crowley naked. Not this close. Not just within reach. Not begging to be satiated. Those hypnotizing hips wiggled an unfair, tantalizing amount as the trousers were slid down, revealing milky, freckled thighs and chased after by shapely calves. Crowley kicked them away, and his black-tipped fingers only just reached the waistband of his black boxer briefs before Aziraphale was beckoning him forth. </p><p>Like the sweet thing he was, Crowley obeyed, standing between Aziraphale’s spread thighs and leaning forward to lick the space behind his jaw and nibble at his earlobe, sighing into it. </p><p>“Oh, such a good boy for me, aren’t you, darling?” Aziraphale moaned, pushing him back only slightly to press his mouth over his collar bones, bite and suck on the joint between his neck and shoulder, that space that taunted him so. One hand raised to cup the side of his torso, thumb pressing down on a nipple and stroking it in teasing circles until it was pert in excitement. He lowered his mouth and sucked it between his lips, rolling it with his tongue and nibbling so scarcely. He reveled in the moan it drew. Crowley slumped forward, biting his lip cruelly and plunging his fingers into Aziraphale’s curls, unable to find any reprieve in their current position. </p><p>A broad hand was slipped down the back of his underwear, fingertips digging into the flesh of one of his cheeks before massaging it greedily. Aziraphale explored with the pad of his finger, sliding it between tensed cheeks and rubbing it in circles around Crowley’s quivering hole. </p><p>“A-ah- Aziraphale,” Crowley moaned at last. It hit Aziraphale like a drug, and he was instantly high on that voice. This body. Those <em> noises. </em>“Th-the lube…” </p><p>“Oh, darling,  you think it’s that easy? How cute,” Aziraphale teased, catching the other nipple between his teeth and delivering a punishing suck to it before releasing it. A trail of saliva strung from it to his lower lip, and he gauged Crowley with a hungry look, basking in the way he looked so flushed, so drunk on lust as he shuddered and gazed back down helplessly. “I’m simply enjoying teasing you.” </p><p>“C’monnnn, angel,” Crowley cooed, “let me touch you.” </p><p>“Hmmm,” Aziraphale responded noncommittally. He lowered his other hand under the soft fabric to join the other, spreading Crowley’s cheeks to finger teasingly at his hole. The redhead shivered and gasped, attempting to buck back against it just as Aziraphale pulled his finger away and sounding a noisy whine. Aziraphale licked his lips. He'd spent more time than he'd care to admit wondering how he might coax noises out of Crowley. He was even more amenable than he'd ever dreamed.</p><p>“Please- please, ‘Ziraphale. Need it. Need you,” he moaned, distressed as he found himself at a loss no matter which way he rocked his hips. </p><p>Aziraphale slid Crowley’s pants down at last, licking his lips as his cock bobbed free. It was so pretty, so flushed. Slender and long and uncut. Crowley had already been worked into quite a state, foreskin stretching over his heated cockhead, already dewy at the slit. Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around the base, not too tightly, touch still punishingly light, and gave a long stroke up Crowley's length.</p><p>“Ohhh, yes!” a rumbled groan ripped from Crowley as he bucked forth into his hand. </p><p>He released a pleased hum and grinned, one hand digging its fingers into his lover’s hip to still him as he repeated the action even slower. “Whatever has you so far gone darling? Is this it all it takes? Are you this deliciously sensitive?” </p><p>Crowley whimpered, planting a bracing hand on his shoulder and biting his plush lower lip so hard it turned white around his teeth. What a good boy; he already knew not to complain. So clever, his Crowley. </p><p>“Or could it be you’re imagining something?” </p><p>“Yes,” Crowley choked out.</p><p>“Oh? Do share, sweet Anthony.” </p><p>Crowley practically sobbed at the sound of his name crooned by Aziraphale, hanging his head and releasing a breathy sigh before choking out, “Sucking you off. Please. Need your fat cock in my mouth. Dying for it.” </p><p>“Mmmh,” Aziraphale hummed, “and how could I ever deny you what you need? Go on then, darling.” </p><p>Crowley dropped down, shaking knees hitting the plush carpet below, and clawed at Aziraphale’s belt and trousers like his life depended on it. Aziraphale hardly felt the cold air hit his cock before it was being sucked into a hot, wet mouth, and a guttural moan ripped from his chest. Crowley rolled his tongue so well, so diligently creating an impossibly tight wave of heat as he worked his way all the way down until Aziraphale hit the back of his throat. </p><p>The heat and intensity of it all was so much to bear. The doctor nearly closed his eyes from the overwhelming bouts of pleasure that slammed into him harder than unforgiving tidal waves amidst the ocean, but he was beyond grateful he abstained upon viewing the way Crowley’s eyes rolled back in his head. A delighted hum escaped the lips wrapped around him, vibrating against Aziraphale’s cock, and the blonde choked out a moan, tangling a hand into wilting red waves. </p><p>“Oh, lovely, darling. My precious little demon. So clever, aren’t you? Oh, <em> yes.”  </em></p><p>Crowley’s whimper fell into a gag as Aziraphale thrusted forth into the impossible heat. Crowley swallowed around his cock, and was more prepared for the next thrust, moaning loudly in encouragement as Aziraphale pulled back. Aziraphale just barely stopped himself from snapping his hips forward once more, deciding to let Crowley show off his skill before taking him as he desired. Perhaps it was too soon for that, anyway. They still had some boundaries to discuss, after all. He was not disappointed in light of his patience. Crowley inhaled sharply through his nose, bobbing around Aziraphale thoroughly and swirling his tongue indulgently around his head, sucking up the precum noisily, crudely before diving back down. Occasional moans and whimpers escaped him. For as tightly he sealed his lips around Aziraphale, saliva dripped out, dribbling down his chin. Tears began building at the corners of his fluttering eyelashes at the intensity of it all. Lord, he was so devoted to this act it could be mistaken his life depended on it. But surely, he was to far gone in the rapture of ecstasy for that mistake to be made.</p><p>“Oh, beautiful, beautiful. Do you like this, Crowley? What if I only allowed you to rut against my leg? Would you come for me like that?” </p><p>He released a loud whimper, free hand helplessly scratching at the trousers of Aziraphale’s leg. He hardly appeared to be cognizant anymore, eyes clouded and distant, face slack and relaxed. </p><p>This was good, Aziraphale thought. Impossibly good. But it wasn’t right. Wasn’t this what Crowley was used to? What he had so ignorantly tried to seduce Aziraphale with the first time they’d attempted intimacy? The idea that he should be used? And if he was, wouldn't he fear being discarded afterwards? </p><p>Aziraphale pawed gently at Crowley’s shoulder, sliding him off his cock with a small popping noise. </p><p>“Nooo,” Crowley whined, pressing his cheek against Aziraphale’s thigh and panting. He was so far gone, mind clearly dwindling in another realm of reality as he huffed, “Wanna… want it…” </p><p>Oh, how sweet. Aziraphale lifted him off the floor with nearly nonexistent effort, settling him on his lap and giving Crowley’s cock another slow stroke, applying more pressure this time and inciting an excited shiver and gasping moan. He repressed his own shudder at drawing out the reaction. It didn't feel real, being permitted to touch his love like this at long last. </p><p>“Don’t pout, darling. I want to show you, will you let me?” </p><p>“Show… show me wha?” Crowley barely managed to ask as his head fell to Aziraphale’s shoulder, diving in to deliver tiny love bites to his neck above his shirt collar. </p><p>“To show you how much I love you. Then, how much I want you.” </p><p>“Yes,” Crowley snapped, some awareness returning to him as he dived in for a passionate kiss. Aziraphale hardly minded as he tasted himself in his lover’s mouth. Couldn’t possibly be bothered now with him writhing in his arms. He pulled back at last, panting against Aziraphale’s lips, “Please. Please, show me.” </p><p>“Wonderful, love,” Aziraphale cooed, setting the slender figure down on the bed so he might stand and undress. Eager hands flocked to him, greedily snatching at the closures of his clothing and unbuttoning with a surprising speed and aptitude. </p><p>Soon enough Aziraphale was stripped down as well, and if Crowley had appeared blinded by lust before, he was absolutely <em> sloshed </em>on it now, whining as he pulled at Aziraphale’s waist. It was all so precious. Surely, Aziraphale had been admired for his strength in the past, had lovers' swoon over his barrel chest and strong arms, but there had been occasions on which he'd be the recipient of passive aggressive suggestions he 'tighten up' the fat. Crowley didn't seem to mind the soft padding. Seemed to fawn over it, really. </p><p>“Hush,” Aziraphale encouraged with a soft whisper as he moved to sit near the head of the bed and beckoned the lithe body towards him. Crowley crawled forth eagerly, melting like butter as Aziraphale pulled him down, a freckled back flush to his chest. He twisted to grasp the lube, struggling awkwardly to open it and squirt some on his palm all with one hand before tossing the bottle onto the mattress. He turned back, pressing slow, wet, adoring kisses up Crowley’s neck and sucking on the space below the back of his jaw, drawing out a drunken moan. </p><p>His slicked hand moved to the base of Crowley’s cock, inciting an initial whimper at the coldness. He hushed the redhead yet again, pleased at his obedience, and slowly slicked the substance over his length in slow, pulsing strokes until he drew out dizzying moans of pleasure. </p><p>“Do you know how dear you are to me, my precious darling?” </p><p>He was answered with a low hum that he hardly found satisfying enough. He wanted to draw intoxicated shouts from his lover. </p><p>“You’re such a good boy, aren’t you? So sweet. Do you love being obedient for everyone Crowley?” </p><p>“No!” Crowley whimpered, “You! Just you, angel!” </p><p>He was rewarded with faster, stronger strokes. Aziraphale wrapped a leg around both of Crowley’s and pressed down, keeping him from thrusting his hips. It was intoxicating, holding him in his arms, feeling the way his skin turned to goose flesh, sensing the most subtle of tremors in that tightly wound body he was doing wonders with slowly unfurling. </p><p>“Mmmh, that’s right. My Anthony. Just for me. You make me so happy. Listen to me so well. I love you, darling. I love you so much. I love your cleverness. Your wit. Your charm. It aches me, my unyielding adoration for you. </p><p>The moans were building now, helpless gasps barely squeezing between the release of each wailing, desperate cry. </p><p>“I love you when you’re so wonderful. So selfless. So sweet and so devilish.” </p><p>He released a low, possessive moan of his own, kissing the back of his neck.</p><p>“And I love you when you’re a terrible, demanding, jealous brat. Especially when you’re that.” </p><p>Crowley released the most intoxicating moan yet, desperately attempting to rut his hips into Azirphale’s hand. The blonde had been completely erect, cock aching since the moment Crowley got naked. It was next to impossible to keep from slowly rolling himself between the valley of his cheeks. Yet here he was, pleased at his own restraint as he pressed against the small of Crowley’s back, victim to his squirming. He was trying to bestow a message, after all. He wouldn't take his own pleasure. Wouldn't convey that retched, maddening desire he had for Crowley before it was time.</p><p>“Do you believe me, love? Do you believe how deeply I love you?” </p><p>The responses were not coherent. Not in the least. But he gathered they were affirmative by the way long fingers were grasping at his hip and arm. Crowley was drunk on the praise, just as Aziraphale had anticipated. He cooed, biting his neck and sucking a punishing mark there as his lover cried out in ecstasy. </p><p>“Beautiful. Wonderful, darling. Then I can show you how I want you. May I take you? Rut between your thighs?” </p><p>“Please,” Crowley sobbed, singular tears streaming down his face at the intensity of it all, now. </p><p><em> I did that, </em> Aziraphale thought greedily, <em> I’ve consumed him with my love. Washed him over with it. Proven it. </em></p><p>“I need you. Need you, angel!” the gravely, broken voice begged in response. It wasn't coherent, really. It was an instinct, begging for Aziraphale's love. His mercy. Aziraphale didn't want him to feel he ever had to beg, but he'd be lying if he said having Crowley that wrecked, that <em>needy </em>didn't do wicked things to him. </p><p>Aziraphale snatched the bottle back into his grip, squirting more into his hands and lifting Crowley’s knee to generously apply between his over-sensitive (he could assume by the way Crowley gasped and his nails clawed into the bedsheets), quivering thighs before stroking his own cock. He did his best not to rut into his own hand, to keep his eye on the prize, and <em> oh </em> it was <em> worth </em>it for the sensation that jolted through him as he slid between those slender thighs, taught and muscled from decades of yoga. Despite his heightened state, Crowley was so good for him, reacted so well, pulsed his thighs through Aziraphale’s thrust. </p><p><em> “Ohhhh,” </em>slid out a crackling groan, and he laid another suckling bite against a slim, freckled shoulder through the next several thrusts. They started slow. Measured. Contained. With the encouragement of Crowley's slim hips bucking back to meet him, he eagerly picked up his pace.</p><p>“That’s it,” moaned Crowley, rocking his hips to meet Aziraphale’s thrusts, sliding through his thighs, he gasped, barely coherent as he babbled, “Yes, angel, yes. Am I good? Good for you?” </p><p>“So good, Anthony, <em> oh,</em> you don't need to ask, darling. I'll tell you. I'll say it again and again, until you're high on the praise. It'll always be true. I know it. I know it like I know the sun will rise in the morning,” Aziraphale growled, wrapping his arms around Crowley and scratching roughly against his chest. He fisted him in his hand, stroking him off to the timing of his thrusts. Crowley was clenching his thighs, pulsing them generously, driving Aziraphale absolutely mad. “Just for me. My good boy. So beautiful. I want you. I want you.” </p><p>“You have me!” returned a loud moaning cry, hiccuping each time his hips slapped Crowley’s thighs. “Yes! Yes! Aziraphale! Faster! I’m so close!” </p><p>The pleads were so earnest. So loud. So <em> desperate. </em>Aziraphale found himself lost to them, no longer aware of the praise and adoration that spilled out of his mouth. although it was plentiful. The list of crude things he longed to do to his partner. He remained focused on chasing the pleasure, rolling Crowley through his thick fingers, drawing him closer to climax. He dug his forehead against the notches of Crowley's spine, basking in the shivers that wracked up them. His arm tightened, pressing Crowley bruisingly close to his chest. He wanted him. He wanted him. </p><p>The room filled with cries of ecstasy, the crude slapping of flesh on flesh, sobbing shouts of “Angel! Yes! Please! Oh!” </p><p>Then the world fell away, the body writhing in his arms the only thing keeping Aziraphale from spiraling into the abyss, sounding the most arousing noises he’d ever heard in his forty-five years of life. Stars shot through his vision before he was enveloped in a vast, consuming, exhilarating darkness, accented by bursts of color. </p><p>Some amount of time later, he felt the sticky sensation coating his hand where he rested it against a heaving belly, tasted the salty sweat gathered at the space between Crowley’s shoulders beneath his mouth. Blinked his eyes open to find a spinning room. He wasn’t ready to move, yet, but forced himself to, lifting Crowley’s leg and freeing his slackening member from the sticky prison. He released a low hum, rolling Crowley onto his back and raining down sweet kisses all over his face. Amber eyes were distant and glazed over, a far-gone look on his face as he gasped for air. He looked incredibly blissed out, a long trail of scratches down his chest and love bites trailing down his neck, shoulders, and chest.</p><p>“There you are, darling. Come back down to me. I’m right here. Right here to catch you. You did so well for me. Aren’t you such a treasure? I’m so proud of you. I love you so much, Anthony- yes, Anthony, that’s right. My wonderful, sweet pet. There you are. I’m here. Oh dear heart, how marvelously you’ve done.”</p><p>A glimpse of awareness returned to mutated pupils as they turned to take in Aziraphale’s features, and he smiled warmly, stroking the space before Crowley’s ear with a thumb as he cupped his head. </p><p>“‘Ziraphale,” he panted.</p><p>“That’s right, love. I’m right here.” </p><p>“Fuck,” Crowley laughed breathlessly, slinging an arm over his head, “That was fucking- you didn’t even- and I- bloody hell, angel.” </p><p>“I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that’s a positive response?” Aziraphale hummed.</p><p>“Oh fuck yeah,” Crowley laughed louder, throwing himself onto Aziraphale and rolling him onto his back before smooching up his jaw and pulling him into a bruising kiss. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. <em> So </em>worth the wait."</p><p>"Hmm... I should have asked before marking you up like this. That was presumptuous of me." </p><p>"No way." A fond smile touched his face at the sound of the crude snort. "Feel free to mark me up any time. Hickeys. Bruises. Scratches. Love feeling them. Seeing them. Remembering who I belong to. Love you, yeah?” </p><p>It did something warm and funny to Aziraphale's heart, a sort of squeezing, to know his submissive was so well pleased with his instincts. He brushed a kiss to the space between red eyebrows before pulling the lithe figure down flush to his body, long limbs sprawled out around him an falling slack.</p><p>“I love you too, Anthony,” Aziraphale hummed, brushing his hands up and down Crowley’s sides as the redhead cuddled up above his chest, snatching onto him. He nearly made a comment that he might never have believed he could get any cuddlier, but held his tongue. The last thing he wished was for his lover to get self-conscious with his highly-prized affections. </p><p>After several minutes of washing his hands through Crowley’s hair and over his back and humming words of affirmation and adoration, he was at last released to get the both of them some water and a warm washcloth, insisting Crowley stay in bed and giving him a well-received warning look when his partner started up on his usual fussing. Upon his return, he aided Crowley in sitting up and taking a long drink of water, praising him all the while before cleaning them both up with the cloth. They laid together in post-coital bliss for a time. Crowley hummed an unfamiliar tune through part of it before falling into a comfortable quiet.</p><p>“Ahem,” Aziraphale was the first to break the silence. </p><p>Crowley cuddled closer, tilting his face up to look curiously at his Dominant.</p><p>“Is there a story behind the… erm… opossum?” </p><p>He was greeted with a confused glance. Crowley twisted to follow his gaze before erupting into laughter, gripping his stomach. </p><p>“Fuck! That’s Orpheus. He’s a creep. Bea and I have a game of strategically placing him in each other’s flats. I assume they had a hunch you’d be staying over.” </p><p>Aziraphale stared at him blankly. </p><p>“How do you feel knowing he just watched us bunk up?” </p><p>“Violated.”</p><p>Crowley rolled onto his back and covered his face, laughing louder before turning back and rubbing his fingers over Aziraphale’s stomach. </p><p>“Aw don’t worry, Angel, I’ll protect you.” </p><p>“How noble,” Aziraphale teased, leaning to kiss the tip of his hooked nose. </p><p>The nurse smiled, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, slowly measuring out. </p><p>“So,” he interjected after a while, “What should I do?” </p><p>“Return it and pray it doesn’t gain sentience.”</p><p>“No, you bastard, not about Orpheus,” Crowley snorted, cuddling up closer, “About Lilith, remember?”</p><p>“Oh!” he started, only just remembering their prior conversation, “Send her a message, my dear. Ask to meet up for tea and be sure to explain that you wish to apologize for your behavior and the harm you’ve caused.” </p><p>Crowley’s face fell, but he nodded against Aziraphale’s shoulder, idly playing with his chest hair and humming in confirmation. </p><p>Aziraphale sighed, stretching his neck to lay a soft kiss on Crowley’s forehead. “How long were you together?” </p><p>“Mmm…,” Crowley vocalized anxiously.</p><p>“It’s alright, dear heart.” </p><p>It wasn’t a long silence, but lengthy enough to show Crowley’s hesitation. “Eight months.” </p><p>“Then she knows you’re not a hostile person. The worst that can happen is that she refuses to see you, in which case you know you did your best,” he offered, taking in Crowley’s silence, “I’m proud of you, in any case. It takes a lot of courage to admit your mistakes, my dear.”</p><p>A sharp cheek was adjusted on his shoulder, and Crowley gave a weak, watery smile. </p><p>“Thanks, angel,” Crowley sighed, leaning up for a kiss and appearing a bit brighter when he got one. </p><p>The first four instances of the notifications sounding on Aziraphale’s mobile, he was able to ignore. This fifth time, however, he groaned in annoyance at last, remorsefully unwinding himself from the pretty freckled redhead to go and scavenge the piles of clothing for his mobile. He pulled it out of his trouser pockets, frowning in confusion.</p><p>“Wassit, then?” he was asked, and looked up to find Crowley cross-legged, amber eyes gazing up at him and gleaming with a playful curiosity. </p><p>“It appears my request off dates were granted, but I don’t recall requesting off any dates.”</p><p>“Oh,” Crowley said, ducking his head and delivering a coy grin, “That would be me.”</p><p>Upon delivery of a long, confused gaze, he decided to elaborate further. </p><p>“I uh… dunno what the rules are ‘bout Shabbos on holiday, but, erm… was hoping to steal you away for a few days. Sweep you off to a romantic destination.” </p><p>Aziraphale raised his brows in surprise, smiling as he crawled back to Crowley and sat across him, taking a hand in his own. </p><p>“I can keep it without going to synagogue for a week, but whatever would possess you to do such a thing?” </p><p>“Weeeeeell,” Crowley started, shrugging a shoulder and grinning, “Had to make up for being a tosser somehow.” </p><p>“I thought I told you there was no reason to keep apologizing for that.”</p><p>“Not apologizin’, just…,” he trailed off, giving a glance that- oh that wiley devil <em> knew </em>would disarm Aziraphale and snuggling closer to nuzzle under his jaw, jostling it playfully, “want to treat my man. Show him how much I appreciate him. Do some wooing. Isn’t that allowed?” </p><p>“Hmm, I suppose,” Aziraphale ceded, leaning forward to catch his lips and grin, “May I know where we’re going?”</p><p>“Nnnnnope,” Crowley chirped, popping the ‘p’, “It’s all a surprise.” </p><p>“I’m not sure at my age I can <em> handle </em>a ‘Crowley’ surprise.” </p><p>He was greeted with a toothy grin.</p><p>“Well buckle up, angel. Ready or not, it’s comin’ your way.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>They're BDSM official, how cute~</p><p>Wonder where Crowley's taking Aziraphale ;3 Worry not, we're gonna check in with the Garbage Opossum the chapter after next. I think the boys deserve an escape from the hospital, especially after all roller coaster they've been through in their personal relationship. </p><p>I promise I'll get you some good WIP recs soon, but today I'm gonna share one of the very first- y'know, maybe /the/ first fic I read in the fandom, and thus it has a special place in my heart! Icing on the Cake by Etheostoma. A fic in which Crowley is one of the best bakers in London, but finally caves to pressure and hires Aziraphale as a decorator.<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258765/chapters/45800668</p><p>Thank you as always for your support! You guys are the absolute best ;o; I'll get the next chapter out ASAP, though I have a couple GOmens zine contributions to work on first ;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Après la Pluie, le Beau Temps Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Somehow, being the fool I am, I thought I could fit the content of both these upcoming chapters into one- which would have been about 23k words, so I've had mercy and split them. Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The high grey spires of the towering red-bricked building practically blended right in with the broody swirl of overcast clouds that settled in during London winter without any intent of leaving for at least a couple months yet. The well-known structure, while an anachronism, was accepted easily into the modern age and kept useful by the bustle of busy bodies, ranging in attire and walk of life, that whooshed in and out its doors like unrelenting gales of wind. The walk outside it was coated with an unseemly grey slush from all the activity atop the day-old snow. </p><p>Crowley shifted, fussing at the wrists of his dark-red leather gloves as he stared up at the mid-nineteenth century architecture. He’s always been quite fond of St. Pancras International. It was the gateway to adventure. A promise of escape from dreary, monotonous life, if not only for a handful of days. It’d done well in that regard, too. There was hardly a country left in the whole of Europe that he and Beatrix had been merciful enough to leave innocent of their rabble-rousing presence. The pair had a habit of leaving more adventure in their wakes than they found.</p><p>Today, a deep regard of the building left a different feeling welling up in his chest, lapping at his heart like waves on a beach. Each wash of the tide felt like a subtle reminder of the life and beauty the ocean had to offer. The danger and power that lurked in its depths. That’s how he felt in his relationship with Aziraphale. He was engulfed in it. Fully immersed. Content to stay there until a harsh storm drowned him or spat him out against a rocky shore. He’d never be ready for that, lived in fear of it, too, but he was so in awe by the whole of it, he was running out of excuses for allowing his anxieties and paranoia to run amok. </p><p>A pat to his cheek from a small, warm hand brought him back from his pondering, and he looked down to find expectant ice blue eyes measuring him up. The scarcest, almost imperceptible grin toyed at the corner of Bealz’ lips. </p><p>“C’mon, then. Head out of the clouds, lover boy. Daddy’s gonna be along any minute now.” </p><p>They earned a huff and a roll of amber eyes for their trouble, and looked pleased enough with it as Crowley shoved his glasses as far up the bridge of his nose as they would go with an index finger before tangling his hands in the pockets of his peacoat. His nose was thoroughly buried into his soft cashmere scarf, a cloud of white unfurling from it like a dragon’s breath in the cold February air. </p><p>“Thought I told you not to call him that.”</p><p>“Since when are you in charge?” Bealz grinned, “After all, you did have to be walked here like a wee lad bein’ dropped off on ‘is first day of primary.” </p><p>Crowley might have rolled his eyes yet again, but he did hate to be predictable. </p><p>“I didn’t <em> need </em>you to, you insisted.” </p><p>“Yeah, ‘cause you wouldn’ come off your fussin’.”</p><p>Crowley felt the creases form, sensed his tone go low and concerned before it happened, knew it would annoy his partner to no end, and yet murmured a soft, “If you don’t want me to go-” </p><p>“Anthony. I’m <em> beggin’ </em>you to go. Take a bloody holiday off from spinnin’ your head round worryin’ ‘bout everyone else. If you ask me one more time if I’m sure, I will drag you to the train by your bloody ear.” </p><p>A soft smile formed on his face, “Right. Well. Don’t go thinkin’ it’s <em> all </em>‘bout you. Just… nervous.” </p><p>“Nervous?” they parroted, incredulity dripping from their tone. They crossed their arms over their black gothic trench coat, “Thought he had your brain go all warm and fuzzy from a five kilometer radius.”</p><p>“He did- <em> does. </em>‘S just. Er- he implied he had a ‘reward’ in order for me.” </p><p>Perhaps to anyone else, Crowley might feel comfortable breaching the topic. However Beatrix had proudly entertained BDSM for years, and while it hadn’t been a topic they’d burdened Crowley with, he couldn’t think of a better soul to discuss it with than his best friend. </p><p>Truly, making his and Aziraphale’s power dynamic something official had only made him feel more safe, more comfortable. He felt more sure and stable emotionally, knowing his feelings were never wrong, always ready to be received. Better physically, under his angel’s charge, being fussed over and taken care of much better than he’d managed to do for himself. The daily life aspect of things had come as naturally as breathing, ironically enough, but Aziraphale had refused to do anything too adventurous in the bedroom with him until Crowley provided something more substantial in terms of limits and boundaries.</p><p>Being the impeccable liar he was, he’d still only managed to get through the whole foreign affair by vague commentary, thorough questioning, and extensive research. Aziraphale seemed much more familiar with the entire concept of power play than Crowley was. In truth, there was an insulting undercurrent of ignorance prickling at his pride. Though he knew honesty was crucial, it felt nice for his angel to assume him so worldly. And he’d learned too much by biding his time to regret it now.</p><p>He’d learned Aziraphale had some sort of agreed power dynamic in most of his previous relationships, some limited to the bedroom, some bleeding into real life, some even only <em> outside </em>of sexual encounters. He learned he was always the Dominant. That he prided himself on catering to his partner's needs. That he was <em>quite </em>flexible with accommodating different kinks, natures, and levels of intensity (though Crowley sensed Aziraphale was censoring himself here, which was somewhat annoying. How was he meant to suit Aziraphale's desires if he didn't know what they were?) And most prominently of all, Aziraphale was immaculately fond of bondage. When he spoke of it, it was as if he was talking about some ancient art form just as transcendent and meaningful as literature and poetry. He’d teasingly mentioned he suspected Crowley to be something of a ‘rope-bunny’ since early on, and was only answered with a coy shrug, a titillating grin, and a purr of, “Suppose you’ll find out.” </p><p>(After Aziraphale had fallen asleep, Crowley had done another extensive googling session, having not the faintest idea what a ‘rope-bunny’ was, and with a face that felt like it was on fire, decided that while he was not currently such a thing, he wouldn’t mind becoming one, were Aziraphale his ‘rigger’.) </p><p>“A ‘reward’? How enticingly vague,” Bealz hummed with a wicked grin. </p><p>Another scoff, “I think you know just as well as I do what that means.”</p><p>“Oh yes,” they schmoozed, squeezing his cheeks with a hand and cooing, “Our sweet vanilla Crowley’s getting his submissive cherry popped.” </p><p>A furiously hot wave washed over Crowley’s face, and he might have stammered but couldn’t bear to give his life partner the pleasure. After he felt his tongue untie itself at long last, he bitterly spat, “I’m not <em> vanilla.” </em></p><p>Bealz raised a dubious brow and smirked. “And yet you’ve been bluffing your way through every conversation you’ve had over it.”</p><p>Ignoring the fierce burning at his cheeks, he took a few deep, measured breaths. They were bullying his way to the point, he knew. The conversation wouldn’t have been initiated were there not a discussion he had for them. Bealz knew the right amount of push to make him give, the best bits to pull to keep him from tumbling over.</p><p>“He says we’re not going to do anything unless I share my ‘boundaries’, but they’re just not a thing I have.” </p><p>A scoff, almost affronted if it was to be believed. “Yes, you absolutely do, love. I’m glad he’s asking. No respectable Dom would play with a sub who claimed that.” </p><p>A frown tugged at his lips, a protest mangling in his throat. “I don’t think I’d mind trying anything with him.” </p><p>“Really?” they asked with no shortage of bite or incredulity, “So you don’t mind being choked until you're on the verge of passing out then? Being struck across the face and spat on? Talked down to until you feel like the most disgusting of all mankind has to offer? Whipped with a belt until you’re red and raw?”</p><p>Crowley reeled at that. All that blood that had been in his face left him dizzy as it rushed out, rendering him paler than a ghost.</p><p>“What? ‘Course I would bloody well mind!” he choked out, disgusted, “Who would be mad enough to want that?!” </p><p>Bealz looked pleased as anything, and a sharp, mischievous grin crossed their face, eyes going dark. They opened their mouth for a cheeky reply, to tell him exactly who, then seemed to remember something, and all that enthusiasm trickled out of them, leaving empty, lost, slightly bitter eyes and a mouth that slowly shut into a tight grimace.</p><p>They looked off into the street, pretending to find something that piqued their interest there.</p><p>“Some people,” they mumbled noncommittally. </p><p>Crowley felt bad for pissing on their very kinky parade with the judgement of someone who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about. Worse for bringing up their recent heartbreak. He’d never seen them be affected like this. He didn’t know what it was about Wanker of all people that could get them all twisted up. Surely they could find someone else who wanted to be slapped around in the bedroom? </p><p>“Trix-”</p><p>“Point is,” they sharply interrupted, a slice of sharp steel through his extended comfort, “You have boundaries. Hard limits. Figure ‘em out and tell him. It’d do you well to come clean about the extent of your experience, too. I can’t imagine he’ll be pleased if you go on lying ‘bout it. I know I wouldn’t be.” </p><p>Like a weight lifted, their sourness dissipated, and they made an effort to brighten that after many years of friendship Crowley found transparently false. A switch hit for the sake of courtesy. </p><p>“Here comes prince charming, now,” they teased, the words too loud to be intended just for Crowley.</p><p>He turned to glance over his shoulder, and if he melted like a snowman in the sunshine upon resting his gaze on Aziraphale, who could possibly fault him? </p><p>The doctor was dressed up in fine form for travel, because of course he was. He wore a high-quality, yet obviously vintage tan suit beneath his coat, the glimpse of a dark brown waistcoat and a tartan bowtie beneath it. His clean white shirt tied in perfectly with impressively well-kept white and brown oxfords that must have been the height of fashion approximately a century ago. Perhaps he wasn’t a prince, but he looked straight out of a period drama. A suitor come to court Crowley. A disgustingly mushy warmth pulsed through Crowley, and he swallowed the dreamy sigh it tried to push out of him.</p><p>A great capacity for romanticism was an unfortunate side effect of a wildly active imagination. Crowley couldn’t help it. Try as he might to keep the air of a flash bastard, he was a true romantic at heart. The kind that likened himself the main character of a Jane Austen novel. The kind that swooned at old fashioned manners, antiquated pet names, and men who used pocket watches- with fobs of course. The kind to quip out smart remarks and be redundantly informed of his clever wit. The kind who loved to house-keep for his partner, to cook extravagant meals if the mundane domesticity of it all would earn him a look as if he’d hung the stars and praise to match. The kind who planned a holiday over Valentine’s Day with the aim of sweeping his lover off his feet. </p><p>“Good morning Beatrix,” Aziraphale greeted with a cheery smile as he approached, setting his (expectantly) dated luggage beside him and turning his sunny blue eyes to take in Crowley. A broad hand was felt at the small of his back before Aziraphale leaned in to give him a chaste but not unappreciated kiss, “Good morning, my dear boy.” </p><p>“Morning, angel,” Crowley hummed happily, practically glowing with that warm, fuzzy happiness that only Aziraphale could bring about. He was so caught up in it he was hardly noticing the pleasant but slightly wary assessment Aziraphale was delivering upon Bealz.</p><p>Whatever its intention, it made them laugh out loud. </p><p>“Not to worry, Fell. No secret plans of forced bonding over holiday. That’s not Crowley’s style. Just dropping off baby for daycare,” they sniggered, shifting their weight to their other hip. </p><p>“Oi, fuck off!” Crowley muttered, though he was hardly pulled from his trance. </p><p>“Gladly,” Beatrix hummed back, “Wouldn’t want you to miss your train.” </p><p>After the long while of staring at an angelic profile, admiring white curls, Crowley managed to tear his gaze away, fixing Beatrix with a frown. Perhaps any logical person might have realized that leaving London meant leaving all that within it. Yet logic wasn’t Crowley’s strong suit. He’d walked Bealz through the care of his plants. Walked Anathema through it after when suspecting they’d forget. He’d tidied his flat and unplugged his electronics. He’d made all the arrangements. But he hadn’t said goodbye to Bealz, not yet. </p><p>Perhaps it seemed silly to get so bent out of shape for a five day venture, but he couldn’t remember a time within the last decade that he’d gone that long without seeing Beatrix. It wouldn’t exactly be polite to neglect Aziraphale and indulge in hour long calls with his best friend every day. There was a bit of anxiety in letting them go. Like a child losing their comfort blanket, as much chagrin as it brought him to admit. </p><p>He stepped forward, folding them into his arms. It took some hunching forward to rest his cheek against the crown of their head, but he managed as much, inhaling their familiar scent of cinnamon and cloves. </p><p>“You’ll be alright?” </p><p>“You’re proving my point ‘bout bein’ a baby,” they mocked despite their arms tightening around his waist, “And yes, I’ll have a grand time. Throw ragin’ parties. Maybe score some mushrooms and take a trip of my own.” </p><p>“Without me?” he pouted, and at last was pushed away, finding an amused grin on his best friend’s face and a glint of mischief in ice blue eyes.</p><p>“I’m sure Aziraphale here will keep you plenty distracted. You won’t feel like you’re missin’ a thing.” </p><p>It was enough to prompt Crowley to look back to Aziraphale, finding him twisting the ring on his little finger and looking mildly uncomfortable. Upon realizing he was the focus of both a golden and an ice blue gaze, he delivered a slightly guarded smile.</p><p>With a hesitant clearing of his throat, he enunciated in a careful voice, “I can assure you I’ll take wonderful care of him.” </p><p>Oh, it was like a teenager promising his date’s dad to get him home by curfew, and it did something foreign and funny to Crowley’s heart. </p><p>Bealz snorted, but the smile they delivered was well-intentioned, bordering on fond. They turned, waving a hand over their shoulder and calling, “Never doubted it.” </p><p>Golden eyes tracked their departure, long and lost. He felt like he was being taken away from a part of himself. His chest ached with an emptiness he associated with the worst times of his life. A soft touch, warm fingers interlacing with his gloved ones, drew him out from his thoughts. He looked at Aziraphale, who was giving him a soft, sympathetic look with far too much understanding in it. </p><p>“I’m- shit, I’m sorry,” Crowley growled in frustration. The irritability was mostly targeted towards his unmanageable feelings. Pathetic. He was forty-two and misty eyed from parting with his best friend for a romantic getaway. He should be over the moon. His mind was eager to jump into it. His heart needed a bit of coaxing. Luckily, no one he knew was more skilled in that regard than a certain doctor. </p><p>“It’s alright, Crowley. Shall we get a wiggle on?” </p><p>It wasn’t wholly convincing, but it did work a snort out of Crowley. He flashed a grin, snatching the handle of his rolling luggage and leading the way. Aziraphale was steadfast to his side through the entrance. </p><p>“You do know you have the most ridiculous turns of phrase?” </p><p>Aziraphale sucked his teeth in disapproval. “Just because it’s uncommon doesn’t make it ridiculous. If it did, there would be quite a few things that made you ridiculous, my dear.”</p><p>Crowley responded with a toothy grin, sliding his glasses down his nose to fix Aziraphale with a devilish glance, “I’ll have you know I’m very proudly ridiculous.” </p><p>“Oh yes, for example, the way you’ll haphazardly ignore where you’re going in favor of delivering a cheeky look.” </p><p>“Huh?” </p><p>With a yank to the elbow, Crowley was pulled just short of running into a pillar, and laughed out loud. </p><p>“Yeah, just like that.” </p><p>Aziraphale flashed a fond smirk before looking forward, likely to discourage his (very proudly ridiculous) boyfriend from nearly running face-first into anything else. It worked well enough. Except Crowley, needy as he was, felt his mind slowly slipping back into its anxious turn. He wasn’t sure Bealz really would be alright. Of course they would <em> tell </em>him they would be. What else would they say? ‘No, don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day with the man you’re wildly in love with. If you leave I’ll go on a reckless bender in which no one will know where I am or if I’m alive’? Unlikely. </p><p>“Crowley, darling.” </p><p>He jumped at the voice, no matter how soft it was, and took in his surroundings, realizing they were standing off to the side of the ticket gate queue.</p><p>“Oh,” he said ever-so-intelligently, pulling his phone out to navigate to his booking confirmation. With the clearing of his throat and an effort to exude his laid-back, devil-may-care attitude, he grinned, quipping a, “Tickets. Need those, eh?” </p><p>“Hmm,” Aziraphale said, surveying him in that appraising way that made Crowley feel he was made of see-through stuff. “You do know you’re allowed to be upset?” </p><p>Apparently he was on a mission to see how many noises he could pull out of Crowley, who sounded something of a scoff and a snort’s bastard child. </p><p>“Of course I’m not. I- I’m excited, Aziraphale. I really am. I’m elated to be whisking you away.”</p><p>“I know,” Aziraphale said patiently, setting down his bag, taking Crowley’s free hand, and cradling it in his own pair, “and yet the human mind is capable of many thoughts per moment. One doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that much. You’re distressed. That’s alright.” </p><p>“Ngh,” Crowley struggled out, squeezing the hand below his own. Truly, he was the most stupid man on earth.  “This is not what I planned. I’m mucking it up, already.”</p><p>“You haven’t ruined anything Crowley,” Airaphale hushed, raising his hand to kiss it so gently an outsider might think he was made of glass, “I’m quite serious when I say it’s alright. You’re an emotional person.”</p><p>“I am not <em> emotional,” </em>Crowley whined, voice rising and then crashing in a looping octave, “I’ll have you know I’m an unfeeling bastard. I laugh in the face of emotions. Eat them for breakfast.”</p><p>Aziraphale had the gall to laugh out loud, “And you’re not the slightest bit dramatic either. Not to worry darling, it’s a trait I’ve quite fallen in love with.”</p><p>Crowley grumbled as he indicated for them to get a move on. The pair wrangled their bags yet again, walking to the back of the queue. Crowley tapped his mobile back to life and held it at the ready.</p><p>“Anathema says I can blame my horoscope for it. Made me a bit less inclined to call it all rubbish if I can blame it all on the cosmos.” </p><p>Aziraphale laughed at that, “Ah, yes. Cancer, isn’t it?” </p><p>Crowley twisted to quirk a red eyebrow at him, only turning back to scan their tickets and shuffle through the gate, closely followed by his partner before they went to drop their baggage. </p><p>“I don’t recall telling you my birthday.”</p><p>“Yes, I would think you might be the type to be cagey about it,” Aziraphale teased, “if only I were your supervisor at work, with full access to your records… hm. Tragic.” </p><p>Crowley made a very valiant attempt at looking scandalized, but the pair of them reduced into snickering half-way through. </p><p>“That’s not very <em> honest </em>of you, angel.” </p><p>“To be fair, your attitude was quite jarring at the beginning, and I was wildly curious if you had something of a questionable record behind it. Perhaps some kind of explanation.”</p><p>He got a toothy grin for it, and a long, slender hand caught a broader one mid-swing, winding into it and squeezing before lazily swaying it between them now that their hands were free. </p><p>“Me? Tetchy? With a <em> record </em>? Nawww, all above board, here,” he hummed innocently before staggering to jostle Aziraphale mid-stride and gaining a faux-aggrieved glance in turn. “How about you?”</p><p>There was almost no queue at the passport booth, but they slid into the end of it, taking the slow progress as a chance to take one another in. </p><p>“My birthday, you mean? September third.” </p><p>“Damn,” Crowley tutted disapprovingly, “Missed it. You should have told me. We were friends, then. Coulda taken you out for a night you wouldn’t forget.” </p><p>“I’m sure you would have,” Aziraphale hummed confidently, “But you won’t be surprised to hear the matter genuinely slipped my mind. I didn’t recall until after work, upon finding a great deal of voicemails and messages on my mobile.</p><p>There was a pause in conversation as Crowley went through the booth, followed shortly after by Aziraphale. When he was joined, he took his hand yet again, tugging him towards the platform. </p><p>“Virgo,” he said mindlessly.</p><p>A blonde eyebrow arched in response. Entertainment was written across Aziraphale’s face. </p><p>“You plucked that off the top of your head. I thought you said it was rubbish?” </p><p>“I said I’m inclined to believe it’s not,” he quipped back with a cheeky grin, “Makes sense. Suits you.” </p><p>“Does it?” Aziraphale hummed haphazardly as his gaze wandered, taking a look at an overhead time board. </p><p>“Oi!” Crowley scolded, jumping in front of him in a futile attempt to block it.</p><p>Now he was <em> definitely </em>amused. A smirk bloomed on Aziraphale’s lips, and he gazed at Crowley in such a besotted way that Crowley realized he looked quite ridiculous standing in the middle of the train station with his arms stretched overhead. </p><p>“I already know we’re going to Paris, Crowley. It was the only nine o’clock train on the schedule.” </p><p>“Aha!” Crowley shouted, not bothering to turn down the ‘ridiculousness’ meter a single bloody notch in his behavior as he pressed the tip of an accusing index finger at Aziraphale’s chest. The smirk grew, and now both eyebrows raised. Light blue eyes were twinkling with fondness, rapt as Aziraphale awaited the accusation that was surely coming. “I knew you would look it up! But not even you cannae outsmart me with surprises, Dr. Oxford-”</p><p><em> “Dr. Oxford?” </em>Aziraphale scoffed back. Crowley tried not to get off track, not to be dizzied by that beautiful, wildly affectionate smile across the face he loved more than any other and the fine lines that crinkled next to his lover’s eyes. </p><p>“Tha’s right! We’re going <em> through </em>Paris. Not to it,” Crowley grinned, feeling quite triumphant.</p><p>“Oh!” Aziraphale said, clearly struggling not to show a mild disappointment. No doubt he’d looked up some antiquarians to barter with. Blue eyes returned to focus at Crowley’s snickering, searching for its source.</p><p>“Not to fuss, angel. We have some time between trains on our way back for whatever bookish shenanigans you're up after.” </p><p>“Now that’s a bit of an oxymoron, isn’t it?” Aziraphale teased. </p><p>They strolled in silence until reaching their platform, idling a bit, as there was a few minutes yet before boarding. Crowley took the opportunity to slither over the familiar figure he’d been longing to touch since they’d met on the walk outside. His hands slid over his strong, padded  barrel chest, then stroked over his broad shoulders a few times before circling over them. He leaned down the scarce couple inches required to press a chaste but indulgent kiss on his partner’s mouth. The sensation of warm, wide hands became known on his shoulder blades, sliding lower to pet up and down the small of his back on either side of his spine. It was a light touch, but effective, pushing a pressure out of Crowley he hadn’t known he’d been storing. A trickling exhale through his nose purged the last of it, and he leaned back with a smile.</p><p>Perhaps any other time of year they might have made spectacles of themselves, but not today. The entire platform was speckled with (mostly) happy couples, cuddled up in the chill of the great indoor structure and awaiting the start of their escape. As much became apparent to Crowley, and he bumped Aziraphale’s forehead with his own and sounded a loud snort.</p><p>“Did you really think I’m cliche enough to sweep you away to Paris for a romantic getaway? Am I really that predictable?” </p><p>“Hmm,” Aziraphale hummed, giving the impression of pondering the prospect. Crowley had a sneaking suspicion it was more for show than anything. He tried not to shiver as the slow, steady up-and-down strokes moved to the sides of his waist. “No. I suppose not. In fact I’m quite certain that for however long I’m lucky enough to have you in my life, I will find many words to describe you. I sincerely doubt ‘predictable’ will ever be among them.” </p><p>“Well, bully for that, eh?” Crowley chirped with a wide, toothy grin.</p><p>A low chuckle rumbled against his thin frame, and he released a happy sigh, draping himself further over Aziraphale. He loved the pressure of their bodies pulled tightly against one another. He felt as if it left no room for insecurity. No space for anxiety or doubt. There was no safer place for him than in Aziraphale’s arms. He had him. He had it all under control. Crowley didn’t have to worry about it. He could just focus on breathing, and so he did. </p><p>Aziraphale took him tightly in his hold. Crowley felt the pressure of a strong hand finding those points in the nape of his neck, beginning to massage away. A moment earlier, Crowley might have argued that it was impossible for him to relax further. Aziraphale didn’t seem to care much for impossibilities. A quick ascent was made to that warm, fuzzy paradise in Crowley’s mind. That place where there was no bad in the world, and only good things could reach him. The ‘gates of consciousness’, Aziraphale had called them.</p><p>“I am curious, you know. It’s a very dramatic surprise, stealing me away on an international venture. Sounds almost like one of your action pictures.”</p><p>Crowley laughed against him, doing his best not to jostle the chin resting on his shoulder. </p><p>“C’mon, angel, don’t doubt me now. I know your speed. We’re getting away from the excitement, not searching for more.” </p><p>“That sounds promising. I’m not typically one for surprises, I’m afraid, but I’m doing my best to maintain my faith in you. After all, you’ve given me no reason to falter, now. You are truly so wonderful for me, my darling, and ever so clever.” </p><p>A well-pleased hum sounded from Crowley. He felt almost too calm and content to think under the effects of acupressure, and the wonderful smell of Aziraphale’s cologne wasn’t helping the matter. </p><p>“Mmmmmh, I promise it’ll pay off. All kinds of lazy and indulgent and intellectual. Perfect for you.” </p><p>“You are, aren’t you?” Aziraphale teasingly twisted the words, and Crowley, the great sap that he was, felt his face heat. They only parted at the sound of a whistle, and began the boarding process. Crowley had made sure to book some more spacious seats, that they might be comfortable for the two and a half hour journey to Paris. A push towards flying had been suggested, but Aziraphale had cut such nonsense short, saying he’d never flown and was uneager to try. If the price of their journey on more familiar grounds was a few additional hours, a few additional hours it would be. </p><p>He found their seats, and Crowley passed the row, gesturing with a swinging arm for Aziraphale to take the window seat. He was fixed with a dubious look for his efforts.</p><p>“C’mon, angel. ‘S your trip. Don’t you wanna see the- the <em> pittoresque </em>French countryside?”</p><p>“I’m sure I’ll see it just fine from the aisle seat.” </p><p>“No need, I don’t mind getting my toes stepped on. Especially when you’re wearing those dapper kicks.”</p><p>Aziraphale took a moment to look down, puzzled, at his shoes, and then looked up again with a slight frown.</p><p>“Crowley.” His voice was soft, gentle, but undeniably firm, “Sit.” </p><p>With a shiver up his spine, Crowley decided not to put up a fight and slid in towards the window, sprawling out in the seat, taking up every inch it would allow. </p><p>“Thank you, sweet darling,” Aziraphale cooed, and how could Crowley ever argue when that was his reward? He felt pleased and comfortable when his partner joined him at his side, but tired, perhaps, after an afternoon of packing, planning, fretting, getting all his anxiety out in one go, and then being unable to get any sleep because of the anticipation, because Beatrix was in bed beside him and awake and talking and he wasn’t about to see them for <em> five days, </em>he couldn’t be more knackered. </p><p>They chattered for a few minutes, but Crowley must have betrayed his exhaustion, because Aziraphale helped him take off his coat, folded it into something more comfortable to support his head with, and bullied him into a nap. Crowley didn’t need to be told twice. The coat was strategically placed against the window, and he cuddled against it, a smile on his face as his last sight was Aziraphale taking out a book from his shoulder bag (because of course he would bring books, and more than one). </p><p>A comfortable haze came to him, and he drifted in and out of reality for a time, minutes stretching into a vast nothingness. Aziraphale was at his side. What was there to worry about? He’d handle it. </p><p>Over an hour later, he was guided out of his blissful haze, and opened his eyes to a new world, free of anxiety and full of sunshine. Thank Satan he’d slept through that bloody tunnel. It made his skin crawl, thinking about being that far underground with all that water overhead. Logically, he knew it was not that different from the tube, but anxiety liked to spit in the face of logic. With a deep inhale, he peeked outside the window, finding the beautiful countryside he’d imagined before. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see a book open in Aziraphale’s lap. </p><p>Crowley groaned, pulling himself upright to stretch his limbs overhead and feeling refreshed. Blue eyes pivoted to take him in, and he gave a hazy smile in turn, squeezing Aziraphale’s knee and shifting against the window for a better look. Breakfast had been left on the tray in front of him. He lightly teased Aziraphale about being impressed he’d left it untouched, earning a soft chuckle for his trouble before they fell into quiet. The coffee was cold, but he drank it anyway and chewed on the pastry before him.</p><p>The silence was content. Cozy, in a way, and Crowley gathered up his bag, fished out his earpods, popped them in his ears, and leaned to look out the window as he listened to the playlist he’d prepared for the trip. Unable to resist, he shot a couple texts back and forth with Bealz, who promptly told him to look out the bloody window and get them out of his head. Hating being told what to do, he did another check over their trip itinerary, shooting some messages back and forth with Sable about some details he’d asked for consultation on before finally looking out at the fleeting picture outside. </p><p>Mercifully enough, the beautiful snow-covered countryside was more than distracting enough. </p><p>Soon they were on their second train out of Paris Gare de Lyon. They exchanged some chatter about Crowley’s time studying abroad in the great city, how often he and Beatrix visited. How fond he’d grown of traveling the country on weekends between his studies and learning the language and the culture. The conversation was pleasant, but Crowley yearned to look out the window again. He liked the train. He could see so much outside of his little world in the maddest hospital in all of London. Crowley liked more than the destination. He liked to travel. Aziraphale seemed to catch on with a smile, and returned to his book.</p><p>The beginnings of the Vosges mountains came into view. He’d meant what he told Aziraphale some time ago. He didn’t know much about nature, but it was calming to stretch his limbs away from the city. It didn’t take long before he decided a cup of fresh coffee wouldn’t hurt, and was glad to stretch his legs on the way to the buffet car. He got a cup of coffee for himself and tea and biscuits for Aziraphale, and upon arriving back at their seats, was rewarded with soft praise and a kiss. </p><p>It was only about halfway through their journey that he realized Aziraphale wasn’t looking out the window whenever he raised his head from his book, but at him. A warm, unintelligible gleam was in his eyes, his face soft and at peace. Crowley couldn’t help but give him a curious smile. </p><p>“Shouldn’t you be appreciating the view, angel? You see me all the time.” </p><p>Aziraphale opened his mouth but appeared to second guess the words that were about to spill from it, and grasped Crowley’s hand instead, giving it a squeeze. A cheeky grin took place on his mouth. “I daresay there’s no better view than you against that backdrop, darling.” </p><p>Crowley sucked his teeth, jostling a tan-clad knee with his own.</p><p>“You get any sappier and I’m gonna get stuck to you.” </p><p>He was leveraged with an amused smile so charming it dizzied him, “Am I to pretend that thought is unappealing?” </p><p>Crowley’s chest vibrated with fond laughter, and he smiled back, “I’d never have you pretend, angel.” </p><p>By the time they reached a somewhat provincial city and got on a third train, this time a local one, Aziraphale’s curiosity was nearly palpable.</p><p>“Nearly there,” Crowley promised with a laugh, “won’t be thirty minutes yet.” </p><p>“You’re sure this isn’t some thrilling chase? We’re not trying to shake someone off our tail? You’re not sneaking me into the country to put an end to me where no one would find me?” </p><p>Crowley snorted, “oh yes, I’ve decided you know far too much about me to keep on living.” </p><p>“Well, at the very least I’ve had a good life,” Aziraphale reflected with a wistful sigh. </p><p>A grin was flashed in his direction, and Crowley cuddled up to his side, bullying his way into his arms. Aziraphale fished his watch out of his pocket, popping it open and sliding his first two fingers over his lover’s thin wrist.</p><p>Well, you could take the doctor out of the hospital, Crowley supposed. </p><p>“Everything alright, dear?” he said. Crowley found it safe to assume that Aziraphale found his pulse to be beating too quickly for his liking.</p><p>“Just excited, angel.” </p><p>It was a partial truth. He <em> was </em>excited. In equal if not greater measure, he was nervous, as well. What if all his painstaking nights of research, picking out the perfect activities, finding housing that would suit Aziraphale’s specific tastes, sussing out local secrets, finding somewhere he could swim in the mornings, and none of it was to Aziraphale’s liking? It was more of a warm-weather destination, after all. What if, by aiming to get his overly-stressed, fussy doctor off the map, he’d made him feel stranded in the middle of bloody nowhere? He’d pretend it was all grand. Of course he would. He’d never hurt Crowley’s pride. The fact only made his anxiety itch something even more fearsome. </p><p>Naturally, the mask he had carefully constructed over decades past was seen through as if it were made of glass. </p><p>“I’m quite chuffed, myself- just to be here with you, Crowley. Wherever ‘here’ happens to be. Away from it all. It’s going to be a wonderful time, I’m quite sure of it.”</p><p>The sharp edges prickling at Crowley like pins and needles simmered down, melted and diffused on contact, leaving a warm buzzing in their wake. </p><p>“Right then,” he confirmed as the train slowed to a stop, dolling out the best delivery of a wicked grin he could muster, “Let’s get to it then.” </p><p>It took some conviction to refrain from nearly pulling Aziraphale’s arm out his socket as they left the old train station in it’s unique German neo-baroque architecture. Aziraphale nearly started fussing over it, intrigued with the histories hidden within the construction of it’s red brick walls. With a toothy grin, Crowley pulled him onward, “If you think that’s interesting, angel, just you wait.”</p><p>Crowley dearly wished there wasn’t a trek through the newer part of town before emerging into the confines of the historical part. It would be maybe an eight minute walk until they began to see anything of interest. It felt like an eternity, dragging about his luggage, looking at Aziraphale’s unimpressed expression. Perhaps that wasn’t fair- it wasn’t <em> unimpressed, </em> it just wasn’t <em> impressed </em> either <em> , </em>and wasn’t that just as terrible? At best he looked confused as they meandered through the maze of unexciting, traditional, recently built structures. </p><p>Naturally, he was still a good sport about it all, and just when Crowley was contemplating all his life choices, wondering how he possibly could have fucked up enough to think it was a good idea to bring the most important romantic partner he’d ever had to this place, Aziraphale looked over. Crowley looked away guiltily, but Aziraphale rearranged his bags in a way that looked like it would strain his neck and shoulder just to take his hand, to soothingly run his thumb over the base of Crowley’s. Crowley both craved the attention and loathed it, if not for the sole reason that his partner could now feel the near imperceptible trembling that ran beneath his skin like a current.</p><p>At last, the buildings got older, more ancient, more unique. Smooth pavement transitioned into old cobblestone, the roads lined by snow-topped shrubs before stopping short of buildings alternating between French and German architecture. Medieval stone churches were woven against tightly knit half-timbered buildings, sporting all shades of wood, paint, and colorful shutters with flower boxes beneath their paned windows. They varied in age and style. Some sported tiny terraces lined with ivy. Just when one assumed they knew what would come around the next corner, a towering renaissance mansion would cap off the block. </p><p>Whatever the expression on Aziraphale’s face, it decidedly <em> was </em>impressed now, or at the very least interested. His mouth remained open the scarcest amount, but no words poured from it. Occasionally his feet would wander off in other directions, and Crowley would pull him back to focus with a nervous laugh of, “We can explore later, angel. Let’s drop our things off first.” </p><p>Soon he was tugging Aziraphale by his firm, warm hand down a tiny red-bricked alleyway past a wrought iron gate. It opened up into a courtyard garden with a lovely fountain in the middle, surrounded by poinsettias. They doubled back up a quaint, rickety, steep wooden flight of stairs, and Crowley fussed with his phone, pulling up the information before punching the code into a lock box, taking the key, and unlocking the door. They pushed their way into a small yet impossibly cozy flat, housing a stone hearth at its heart and angular, beamed ceilings overhead. The furniture was mismatched and antique, with cozy fur carpets underfoot and plentiful throws and blankets tossed over the back of their supports. A small, dated kitchen was tucked away in the back corner. Crowley had debated looking for a flat with a big enough space to cook, but they were in Alsace. Like hell was he about to pass up the bounteous plethora of restaurants, bakeries, and cafes that he <em> knew </em>Aziraphale would fawn over for home cooking. They’d go to the covered market and he’d find some things to take home. Contributions for edible reminders of what he hoped to be a very romantic and lovely getaway. </p><p>Aziraphale meandered to the sitting area near the front windows, ducking his head to gaze out at the picturesque street below. It looked the sort of place that little covered stands might set up centuries ago, vending goods at the market. If one craned their neck, they might see a lovely historical park near the end of the street. Anxiety gnawed at Crowley’s stomach like a dog ground its teeth on an antler. He was so quiet. Why was he so quiet? What if he’d had his heart set on Paris? National landmarks? Gorgeous, spacious hotels? High-end, five-star restaurants renowned throughout the whole of Europe? What if he wanted the wine to be brought to him rather than to go to it?</p><p>Crowley tried to speak through the catch in his throat, “I’m sorry if it’s not what you were expecting. I know it’s not much of anything-” </p><p>“Anthony.”</p><p>The quiet voice, more soothing than whale songs, sent a buzzing under Crowley’s skin as fast and haphazardly as a wildfire until it wholly consumed him. Blue eyes were cast on him, and in this moment, they held an impossible depth, swimming with life and color and adoration. Crowley’s breath was caught in his lungs, held captive until Aziraphale pulled the string to draw it out. He didn’t have to wait long.</p><p>“It’s <em> everything.”  </em></p><p>A wave of relief carelessly slammed over Crowley’s body, a tide he was happy to be caught in and dragged under. He blew out a huff of air at last, pleased as his angel came closer, took his shaking hands in solid, strong ones and brushed his thumbs over bony knuckles.</p><p>“Mmmm, hoped you’d like it here.”</p><p>“And where exactly is ‘here’, might I ask? I feel as if we’ve rather ‘stepped through the wardrobe’ so to say.”</p><p>A proud grin toyed at Crowley’s lips. Aziraphale looked well pleased upon finding it.</p><p>“Colmar, France. Wineries in every direction. As much history to explore as you’d care to imagine. Some of the best cuisine you’ll find in the whole of Europe. It’s right in the heart of Alsace, we have more than enough time over the weekend to travel to nearby towns. You want a village out of a storybook? We should find time to pop over to Strasbourg. Left the weekend wide open so we could take it at whatever pace you’d like.” </p><p>“However did you find this place?” </p><p>“Oh, y’know. Wandered here and there when I was studying in Paris. Never appreciated it as a reckless, up-to-no-good, adventure-seeking twenty-something, but I thought of bringing you here and… dunno, seemed the perfect escape.” </p><p>“Indeed,” Aziraphale hummed, his eyes shining with affection. Crowley found himself pulled forward into an indulgent hold, kisses laid up his jaw in a tidy row before he was captured into a kiss. It started chaste, but quickly spiraled into something hotter, heavier, something that made him dizzy. His breath hitched as he felt one of those strong hands slide lower, greedily groping one of the toned globes of his arse, the joggers encasing them allowing quite a bit more malleability compared to the usual prison of tight denim trousers. </p><p>Crowley snorted, breaking the kiss to nibble at Aziraphale’s lower lip, his hands washing over broad shoulders. “I was going to suggest we explore the town a bit before dinner, but you go on like that, angel, we’ll be holed up in here all day, exploring something entirely different.” </p><p>He regretted his words the moment Aziraphale delivered a parting squeeze and withdrew his hands. </p><p>“Well,” he teased, pecking a kiss onto the corner of Crowley’s lips, “we can’t have that. Let’s freshen up, I suppose?”</p><p>“I suppose,” Crowley responded tartly.</p><p>“Now, now. None of that, darling,” Aziraphale scolded, swatting at his arse as he passed to pick his bag up and find the bedroom, “we do have all weekend, I’m sure we have plenty of time to experience many sights.”</p><p>Crowley suppressed the shiver that rattled up his spine at the insinuation, following after to dig through his own bag for something more titillating and less comfortable. The outfit he pulled together fit the bill pretty well, tight black trousers with a fitted grey waistcoat, a dark red button down with his sleeves rolled to his elbows, a thin black tie and a pair of Louboutins to tie it off. It was a dead giveaway that he was taking them to a nice restaurant, and Aziraphale looked positively chuffed. </p><p>They happily strolled through the heart of the old town, nearing the place Crowley was most excited to show him. However, it was still quite nippy out, and Crowley was notoriously poor at retaining heat, so they took shelter in a cafe and chocolaterie. As always, Crowley found doors held open before he reached them and chairs pulled out for him before he could choose where to sit. Aziraphale got a few small morsels that wouldn’t spoil his appetite alongside a cocoa he described as “absolutely heavenly”. Crowley settled for a coffee, though he happily tried a bite of a few different truffles at Aziraphale’s insistence. </p><p>They set out again near dinner time, arm in arm. Crowley bit down his excitement, trying not to let on about the beauty that was about to unfold before Aziraphale. He led him down a street, and then they were on the canal. Brightly colored half-timbered clay houses lined either side, alongside beautiful cobblestone bridges across it. Boats drifted by underneath, the temperature too warm for the water to freeze. It was twilight, the orange, pinks, and purples painted across the horizon and reflected off fluffy clouds with beams of light streaked through them, serving as the most perfect backdrop for the scene imaginable. </p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes lit. His voice faltered, he watched, rapt, and allowed himself to be pulled halfway over a pedestrian bridge, where the two leaned against the stone arch and watched the boats row by. Well, Crowley leaned, trying to look as if he couldn’t care less about Aziraphale’s opinion of the place. As if he hadn’t dreamed of standing here together since Aziraphale had voiced his concerns about being used and unappreciated, scorned and disdained a month prior. Aziraphale merely stood beside him, back ram-rod straight in his stupidly proper manner and his gloved hands resting atop the side of the structure.</p><p>“It’s so utterly reminiscent of Venice,” he sighed after a time. </p><p>“Funny you should say. They call it La Petite Venise,” Crowley hummed back, “When I was here last we went on a canal tour, we were absolutely smashed. It was during the Christmas markets, and the lights were strung up so pretty in every direction. Some of them were blinking. So, in my intelligently sloshed state, I decided we ought to rock the boat. Literally. Have a bit of a rave. Half the occupants fell out. Got snatched out before I drowned. Luckily, my fellow sailors were uni friends. Elsewise I might have been chased out of Colmar by an angry mob.”</p><p>Aziraphale guffawed, slapping a hand over his mouth and trying to collect himself into at least pretending he disapproved.</p><p>“Really, darling. Is there anything you <em> haven’t </em>done?” </p><p>Crowley watched the wake of the passing boats, feeling those calm ripples down to his core. That’s what Aziraphale did. He didn’t disturb his contents, not really, just left the gentlest wake behind him. Leaving the patterns changed, but not truly altering the bits that made him up. After a time, he realized Aziraphale was no longer appreciating the view, instead looking at him with unadulterated adoration. Crowley pressed up from his position leaned over the bridge railguard, giving a toothy grin that he hoped appeared more suave than desperate. </p><p>“I’ve done most things, it’s true. Wild things. Stupid things. Had a more exciting life than you’d ever expect from a nurse. But I’ve never had anyone love me like you do.” </p><p>The honesty nearly brought Aziraphale to tears, his eyes growing wet as he took a long look at Crowley. He pulled him away from the support. Pulled him close. Took him into his arms. Rested a hand against his cheek. He didn’t kiss him. Didn’t need to. Sometimes, the most intimate action possible- more than kissing or groping or cuddling- was a deep, searching gaze into one another’s eyes</p><p>“I do. Ever so much, you know. Every day, more and more, to the point it pushes disbelief- I love you and I want you.” </p><p>Crowley gave him a watery smile, laughing as he closed his eyes and tried to measure his emotions. He reached a hand up, placing it over the heat of Aziraphale’s. This moment. This moment made it all worth it. The journey. The anxiety. Parting from Beatrix. And he found himself wanting it to suspend into eternity. </p><p>“Could we maybe take a photo together? We haven’t any. Not really. Not since that group photo at Rocky Horror. Seems a bloody crime, doesn’t it?”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled, pressing a long, chaste kiss to his lips, “That it does, my lovely darling. What a fine idea. The light is simply perfect for it, don’t you think?”</p><p>A happy hum sounded from Crowley, and he fished his mobile out of his peacoat pocket, pulling his leather glove off with his teeth and tucking it under his arm before lifting his mobile high. He couldn’t help but compulsively tap his thumb on the snapshot button in such quick repetition it captured every moment that existed between them smiling together, Aziraphale taking the liberty of sliding off his glasses, a tender kiss shared between them- all with what, in this moment, he believed to be the most beautiful backdrop he could ever hope for. </p><p>He thumbed through them happily as they made the short trek to their destination, feeling as content and well-pleased as a purring cat. He shoved his phone back into his back pocket. While determined to make a habit of taking photos together over the weekend, he refused to miss out on the experience by staring at his mobile. After all, the source of his happiness was fast to his side. They climbed a couple sets of stairs to find their way into the restaurant, Aziraphale rushing forward to get the door for him and making something flutter in Crowley’s chest. He might get irritated if someone else were to coddle him in such a fashion, but it wasn’t someone else. It was Aziraphale. His caretaker. </p><p>It was a small little business. Cozy and cottage-like inside, but still dim and romantic. They were seated by the wide back windows, looking over Little Venice. He was happy to receive a thorough onslaught of praise and affection, informed of how very clever he was to plan something so lovely and intimate from miles away. Crowley became quite flushed with it, and snarled at the waiter when he came to interrupt the moment. The man was immediately unnerved, but settled a bit upon realizing that what Crowley lacked in manners, he made up for in proficient French. </p><p>He allowed Aziraphale to choose what to order for the both of them, because of course he did, and happily translated. Crowley wasn’t picky, and even so, that token clairvoyance was shining through with the aptitude of Aziraphale’s learning of his specific taste. A small, mischievous part of him felt well-pleased at his partner taking over as if he was in charge of the dinner, as if he was treating Crowley, completely unaware that it was all on Crowley’s bill. As such, his angel didn’t hold back in the variety of appetizers or the quality of wine he ordered. Crowley couldn’t be happier to see it, knowing that Aziraphale never would have indulged so freely were he to know Crowley was paying out of pocket. Crowley tasted the wine at his insistence, as per usual, and found himself so distracted mooning over how well he was treated that he nearly forgot to register the flavors bursting on his tongue. </p><p>Being housed less than a ten minute walk away, there were no worries about over-indulging. Thus, they spoiled themselves with a couple bottles over their dinner, and more dishes than they strictly needed to feed them and all their coworkers combined. Crowley couldn’t deny the cuisine went well above and beyond his own cooking abilities, and nearly fainted at the combination of Aziraphale’s moans, the fingers in between soft lips, the tongue darting out to taste and pick up stray strands of food, and the praise he received as if by taking Aziraphale here, he was directly responsible for the deliciousness of the meal and the making of the wine.</p><p>They discussed nearby wineries, which they wished to go to, and jested about the amount of bottles they’d likely wind up smuggling back to England. Aziraphale snuck him bites as if he was incapable of wielding a fork and knife (and Crowley didn’t mind a bit). They watched the boats slowly drift by and the street lamps come on, showing a different sort of winter beauty in the scene outside. </p><p>At last, they called for the bill, and the moment Crowley was anticipating came to light. They pulled out their wallets in tandem, yet Crowley was the one able to slide his card out and slap it on the booklet while Aziraphale stared at his open leather wallet with an expression doused in confusion. </p><p>“No no no, dear. I have it handled, it’s nothing for you to fuss about. It’s only just- oh, I knew I put them somewhere.” </p><p>Crowley second guessed his master plan when anxiety took over his angel’s features. Aziraphale searched all his pockets, growing more and more harried. </p><p>“Oh dear… I fear my cards have been stolen…” </p><p>“Perhaps, but never fear, angel. I’m sure the thief has every intention of returning them to you.” </p><p>“What kind of thief would do that?” </p><p>“One that’s very in love with you.” </p><p>Aziraphale fixed Crowley with a look that made him squirm in his chair. </p><p>“How- when-?” he started, but that line of questioning seemed to leave Crowley far too well-pleased for his liking, “If you wouldn’t mind returning them now, then.” </p><p>Crowley tore his gaze away. He hated to disobey. To disappoint Aziraphale. A couple outside had deigned to journey a canal tour despite the cold weather. He struggled to explain before he found himself in any true trouble.</p><p>“I… really want to pay for everything on this trip. I don’t want any insecurities whispering in your ear that I don’t appreciate you. And… on that note, I mean to say I’m using my own funds, not Bealz’, in case that thought crossed your mind…” </p><p>“Of course it didn’t,” Aziraphale scolded, a slight but unhappy grimace on his face, “Crowley, you have nothing to prove to me. I’m quite aware of the appreciation you hold for me. It’s exemplified in your actions every single day. You truly are such a dear heart. </p><p>An uncomfortable silence passed, and Crowley was grateful for the sunglasses shielding his eyes from Aziraphale, though at this point they offered about as much protection as a crop top in a blizzard. That was a weakness of his, wasn’t it? Somehow fearing everything and yet never being properly prepared for any of it. </p><p>“Not trying to prove anything, just… trying to pull my weight. Not take advantage of you.” </p><p>He chanced a look at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye and suffered the immediate repercussions of feeling like an idiot. His eyes began to sting with tears, and he looked away again in a shoddy attempt of holding them back. Aziraphale looked so terribly sad. Disappointed, perhaps not <em> in </em>Crowley, but disappointed regardless. Wasn’t that enough for devastation to boil in Crowley’s blood?</p><p>“I believe it was you, my dear, who so insightfully stated that relationships should not be transactional, a sentiment with which I most wholeheartedly agree.”</p><p>Crowley looked down at his hands, chewing on the fleshy barrier of his inner cheek. A long time passed. Aziraphale would wait. He really was quite the stubborn bastard.</p><p>“I- I just want to do something nice for you, Aziraphale,” he said at long last, furious at how small his voice sounded. </p><p>A soft hand covered his own pair, taking one of them away to curl their fingers together. </p><p>“You have, my love. You’ve brought me to this beautiful place. Planned the most romantic getaway I could imagine with consideration for details I might never have even noticed. I daresay, Crowley; you even went so far as to make sure there was an indoor pool in town so I mustn't go without swimming and bear becoming terribly tetchy and wound up,” Aziraphale laughed in a tone that impeccably likened amazement. No way Crowley could inspire something like that. Not someone like him. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to carry all that weight alone. Isn’t that what this arrangement is for? I don’t want the little things to cluster together and work you into a state. I don’t want you to feel like you have to lift a finger.”</p><p>Crowley tensed, curling his fingers into a loose fist. He nearly withdrew it, but the power of Aziraphale’s compassion and care kept it there. </p><p>What did he mean by that? The ‘work into a state’ business? Was he afraid of another hypomanic episode? That it could be triggered by something as innate and precious as Crowley caring for another person? Crowley knew, realistically, that Aziraphale would never see him the same after the episode he’d witnessed, but for a moment he dreaded the possibility that perhaps the way Aziraphale wanted to ‘take care of’ him was the way counselors took care of drug addicts. To change him. Fix him. Put him together with mismatched parts that shouldn’t fit. A touch of common sense here. Some blind obedience there. A sprinkle of mood stabilizers on top, turning him into a being void of emotion or personality. </p><p>Crowley’d suffered those attempts before. He couldn’t bear it again. Not from his angel.</p><p>A wave of nausea washed over him.</p><p>“Aziraphale,” he choked out, frustrated off the bat at his inability to stand the fuck up for himself, for Satan’s sake, “I know that what you saw when I was… well. It’s probably hard to forget. You probably don’t care to try, and I already hate myself for trying to place- y’know- <em> conditions </em> on you caring for me. Fuck me for choosing this moment to get a moral bloody backbone- beggars can’t be choosers, ‘n’all- but I don’t think… I don’t think I could fully embrace this situation- you taking care of me, having command over me- if I’ve misled you to believe that I’m… broken or helpless or pathetic or something. That I’ll fall to pieces if you don’t tape me up. I know I have my share of baggage. I know it’s not pretty. I know I’m a <em> lot </em>to handle. I know I’m filled with cracks and leaks but- but I’m not broken. I just want you to know that if there’s something heavy you can’t carry alone, you can trust me with it. I’m sturdier than I look. I’m a whole person. I can handle it.”</p><p>“Oh, Crowley.”</p><p>He ducked his head further, assuming the broken sound in Aziraphale’s voice was pity. How delusional must he find his poor, idiotic, impulsive sap of a charge? Of course, after what he was put through, he’d think Crowley was broken. Perhaps in his mind, that answer was the only one that could justify staying with him through the whole sordid affair.</p><p>Then a squeeze of his hand forced Crowley to look up, and he froze, finding only deep, powerful tides of <em> reverence </em>in those eyes.</p><p>“Yes, you are a whole person. I had been so afraid you didn’t see it. You can’t-,” Aziraphale paused, choked up by emotion as he shuttered those oceans in his eyes, took in a deep, slow breath. When he opened them again, they were vast, clear pools, calmly rippling with all admiration and affection and adoration that their depths could possibly harbor, “You can’t imagine how happy I am to hear those words out of your mouth. Anthony, I don’t define you by your illness. Why- <em> how </em>could I? </p><p>‘You’ve been in therapy three decades before I stepped onto the scene, striving not just to survive, but to better yourself. The strength it would take for any person to do that, to support themself through school, maintain decades long friendships, hold and <em> excel </em> at a job where people depend on you emotionally and physically, facing the harsh truth of mortality every day, finding the words to describe your emotions, discovering and staying fast to the activities that help you cope with it all- it’s extraordinary. To achieve all of that with a- <em> multiple </em> mental illnesses staring you down, fighting you every step? To thrive despite them? To refuse to allow them to define you and your limitations? It’s- beyond words. You’re not barely scraping by. You’re living your life. You are fierce and strong and whole and I am in <em> awe </em>of you, my dear” </p><p>The words were revolutionary, quaking the shoddy foundation Crowley had built a lifetime on. He was choked up for an entirely new reason now, his quivering lower lip foiling his weak attempt at a smile. </p><p>“You are?”</p><p>“Of course I am, my love,” Aziraphale sighed, laughing breathlessly as he wiped a tear from below his eye and leveraged Crowley with a watery smile, “What’s more, I have seen- <em> experienced </em> how fiercely you love. I have witnessed and heard of you helping clean and cook and laundering for those who don’t have the energy left over to do it themselves, including myself. Even just last week you went down to tear apart Warlock and Adam’s horrid landlord for taking advantage of them. You’ve been looking after everyone else since you were a <em> child. </em> I can’t imagine how you manage it <em> and </em> keep yourself afloat, keep your hardships at bay. That’s why I want to take care of you, my precious darling. Not because I find you incompetent or weak or- least of all <em> helpless </em>. I’d be daft to use that word to describe you. No, my dear. Not at all. It’s because after a lifetime of fighting tooth and nail, don’t you deserve to rest? To be cared for and kept? To let go, and as you said, feel unburdened? safe? To have proper room to breathe, knowing I have it all managed? You are quite a bit to handle, it’s true. All the more reason I wish to free you from that task. It’s an honor to me and nothing less.” </p><p>“Fuck, angel,” Crowley managed out through his gravely voice, rubbing at his eyes from under his glasses to disperse evidence of tears before allowing the spectacles to clink down into place, “Sod off, why don’t you! Bastard! Can’t just go around making me <em> cry </em> in <em> public!” </em></p><p>“Hmmm, thought it was my choice to decide what to do with you, wasn’t it?” </p><p>A series of strangled noises escaped Crowley in quick succession, too flustered and too warm as he floundered for a retort and found none at his disposal.</p><p>“Right, wonderful,” Aziraphale hummed, flashing that elitist bastard grin, “Then you’d do well to hand over my cards, you wicked little pickpocket, before I decide to send you straight to bed when we arrive back at the flat.”</p><p>And there was really no room to argue in <em> that. </em>So Crowley returned the cards he had safely tucked in his waistcoat pocket and allowed Aziraphale to pay the bill, to hold the door for him, to lead the way as they strolled about and explored, to take him back to their cozy little flat, to wash his hair as they showered, to lay him down, to ravish him, to chase any inkling of anxiety or paranoia or duty or responsibility far, far away, where he imagined they’d have a good mind to stay for some time. </p><p>As he fell asleep, Aziraphale half on top of him and his weighted blanket long forgotten and unneeded in his bag, he felt at peace with Aziraphale’s words running through his head. </p><p>It was true, he did fine taking care of himself, but not without cost. Not without spending spoons he’d never had to begin with. He was too much to handle. He wasted too much energy keeping his head above water. He was tired of reigning it in. Barely holding it together. Exploding all over the place and cleaning up the mess all alone. But Aziraphale loved him anyway. Maybe he really was up to the challenge, and if so- well, Crowley would happily count his blessings. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Moral of the story is if you've lived your life with a mental illness you're a fucking badass and I'm right there with you. Living is hard. Constantly working on yourself and committing to growing as a person for your entire life is much harder. You're not weak or broken. You're awe-inspiring. </p><p>I probably could have cut so much out of this chapter but what can I say? I'm soft for them being soft for each other. While I love writing them through their problems, I also love showing the little things, how easy and natural it is for them 90% of the time. It's nice to see them finding their footing. And of course we got those Daddy Aziraphale moments, because let's face it- Bealz is fucking right (they always are). </p><p>Next up we got some *drumroll* Valentine's Day smut! I'm pretty excited about sharing it, the first sexual BDSM action for the boys (though you'd be right to expect a big fat wholesome talk about boundaries and expectations first). We'll see how long I can put off posting it, I'd be surprised if I don't throw it out into the universe by the end of today. </p><p>I am lazy, so I will post a fic rec with the second part of this. In the meantime, my friends and I are dorks who figured out the main four's star charts and myers-briggs. They are upsettingly accurate, so here goes:<br/>Aziraphale- ISFJ September 3 Virgo Sun Leo Moon<br/>Crowley- ENFP June 27 Cancer Sun Aries Moon<br/>Beatrix- ENTP November 13 Scorpio Sun Sagittarius Moon<br/>Gabriel- INTJ January 1st Capricorn Sun Pisces Moon</p><p>Thank you so much for your support! You guys are so amazing and I love writing for you~</p><p>Edit: can't believe I forgot, but my dear friend Beckers522 commissioned the lovely Freedom attack to make this beautiful piece of Crowley and Aziraphale's first date in Chapter 12!<br/>Twitter: https://twitter.com/Free00746552/status/1296171037575520256<br/>Tumblr: https://getwrexed.tumblr.com/post/626972704815349760/freedomattack-another-commission-ready-a</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Après la Pluie, le Beau Temps Part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Kink negotiations, mention of past abuse, bondage, safe word use (Crowley calls 'yellow' after he gets disoriented and his anxiety spikes, it's handled properly and they finish the scene safely)</p><p> </p><p>Just a reminder to check out the AMAZING art Beckers522 commissioned from FreedomAttack (AKA Free) of the boys' first date here: https://twitter.com/Get_Wrexed/status/1297569857383337984?s=20<br/>https://getwrexed.tumblr.com/post/626972704815349760/freedomattack-another-commission-ready-a</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next few days were something of a holiday in paradise. Long days filled with lavish foods, adventures on foot through towns Crowley had memorized the history of, beautiful hikes through the snowy French countryside, strolls in museums filled with debate and laughter, trips to wineries where too many bottles were purchased, and hopping through bakeries and hidden gems of restaurants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beginning of their Valentine’s Day was quaint and quiet and perfect. Aziraphale managed to coax Crowley to come swimming with him. Crowley had stayed behind to do his yoga, but ventured to the aquatic center afterwards, catching the end of Aziraphale’s workout. He felt honored to watch in wonder at how powerfully his lover swam his laps, muscles rippling beneath their soft padding. He hardly took a break, his stamina something otherworldly. He swam practically nonstop for over a half hour, though Crowley couldn’t speak for the hour before he’d arrived. At long last, he stopped at the edge of the pool, panting and pleased at Crowley’s presence and the delivery of his water bottle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair moved to the leisure pool, where Crowley was relieved to find he could easily touch the bottom and didn’t need to embarrass himself with showing off his shoddy attempts at treading water. There wasn’t so much swimming going on as there was drifting around, his arms locked around Aziraphale’s neck as his partner guided him in slow patterns about the pool and they cooed quiet endearments back and forth. That lasted some time, until the skin at their fingertips grew wrinkly. Before leaving, Crowley begged to bask in the sauna. Aziraphale admitted he wasn’t entirely fond of ‘schvitzing’ but didn’t seem to complain as Crowley laid out on the bench under his partner’s feet like a lizard soaking up the heat. He wasn’t sure how much time Aziraphale allowed him to lay there. He might have been content to stay there forever. However Aziraphale bossily bullied him out of the humid room, insisting Crowley was dehydrated. He had the nerve not to believe the doctor until he took a swig of water and realized he was parched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he ought to learn to give up doubting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards they took a stroll through a park, admiring the statues and fountains- well, Aziraphale did. Crowley mostly made crude jokes about poses that Aziraphale pretended to be annoyed by. They stopped by Colmar’s famous covered market for a bite to eat, aiming to avoid the rush of fine dining by eager lovers. Crowley bought all manner of cheeses, preserves, spices, and sauces to bring home and cook with, bartering with an intimidating vigor in French. They bided their time, people watching. Crowley made up scandalous backstories for the innocents passing by. Just when he thought Aziraphale was at the point of irritation, he’d contribute a vital detail to deepen the unsuspecting bystander’s character history. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So angel,” Crowley mused at long last, clasping his hands over the table, “where to next?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slightly bashful look crossed Aziraphale’s face as he spun his ring on his finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my darling. These last few days have been such great fun, but I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to so much activity. Would you be terribly disappointed if we grabbed something here that might keep in the refrigerator for supper and dessert, went back to our cozy flat, lit a fire, and enjoyed each other's company?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley leaned forward from his slack sprawl to drop his hand on his chin, attempting a wicked smile that landed somewhere far too soft to be effective. Aziraphale and his therapist had been attempting to convince him that guilt was a useless emotion. Evidently, they were making ground with the suggestion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve overlooked your introverted needs, haven’t I? Need to withdraw back into your shell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Aziraphale considered, giving a grin that was still so sweet despite its mildness. Crowley felt foolish for not seeing how worn he was earlier. Of course he’d been quiet. Aziraphale had charisma in bounds, but his favorite activity was tucking away into a corner and reading, for heaven’s sake. Crowley realized all at once that Aziraphale had been entertaining him this whole time, keeping him happy- of course, he’d genuinely had a good time each day, but if it weren’t for Crowley’s desires, Aziraphale likely would have taken considerably more frequent breaks of sitting away from the bustle. “So long as I can bring you. I know that might sound like a terribly dull Valentine’s day, and I know how you itch in your skin at sitting still-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if I have something to worry about, angel. I can be surprisingly lazy, I’ll have you know. An evening in, getting a nice cuddle in front of the fire and having a nap while you read your books? Well. Sounds like the perfect Valentine’s day, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked so full of joy and relief Crowley feared for a moment that he might burst. They did another loop about the market, buying sandwiches, sweets, and soup that Crowley could heat back up on the stove later on in the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They talked and teased in quiet voices as they wandered back to their rental. Crowley had originally fussed over whether or not they’d be able to spend so much time away without bringing up work. It’d come surprisingly second-nature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon arriving at their flat, Crowley went straight toward the fire before being scolded and tutted at to put the food in the fridge and go change into something comfortable. The command made him greatly wish he’d brought that red lingerie. Maybe bought a corset. Something enticing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet for all the capacity he had for sexual corruption, one look at Aziraphale next to a roaring fire, leaning against the armrest of the victorian sofa with legs spread just so Crowley might crawl between them, lay against his chest where he’d most certainly be lulled to sleep by a strong heartbeat and even breathing, and Crowley couldn’t think of a more enticing offer for all the world, however more domestic than sexual it was in nature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did just so, his stomach laying between Aziraphale’s hips, the plush belly fitting into the concave of his torso so perfectly, and his cheek pressing to his chest, rubbing over the flannel tartan pyjamas. He had no idea why the image of Aziraphale in them drove him wild, but alas, it did. No sooner was a cozy knit blanket pulled over him, tucked around him, then he buried his face against that plush barrel chest and drifted away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a funny dream about being a young woman in a modest Georgian Era manor, not unlike Eliza Bennett. Bealz was her oldest sibling, taking the place of a much more crude and crass Jane. Gabriel and Aziraphale took the parts of Bingley and Darcy, though he couldn’t imagine who was who, as Aziraphale had the much sunnier disposition of the two. And courtly, proper manners of polite society be damned- sure, Crowley was a fine women, well-read and educated, but like fucking hell was she about to marry Gabriel fucking Winger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He awoke to something much more pleasant. The scent of vanilla and jasmine swirling in his nose. The most comfy support imaginable. A mindful hand massaging his scalp near the nape of his neck. A somewhat interested, half-hard cock rubbing against the couch cushion. He hummed, rubbing his face against the flannel yet again as he readjusted, pulling Aziraphale’s leg forward on the sofa so he might straddle it and lazily rut against it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A low chuckle rumbled from the chest his cheek was rested against. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon to you, too, my darling- or evening, rather.’’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time is it?” Crowley sighed groggily, breath hitching as his erection grew more attentive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost six; you slept nearly four hours. I was beginning to worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused the rolling of his hips to rest his chin on Aziraphale’s chest, throwing a devilish grin up at him, “I told you I could be surprisingly lazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure prolonged unconsciousness may be called laziness so much as it warrants a health concern.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may safely diagnose me as a chronic sleeper. Though I’d argue that’s the norm for humanity. Not staying up all night every night reading dozens of books,” Crowley teased, pressing the outline of his cock against Aziraphale’s plush thigh, “In any case, I can promise I’m fully aware now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmmm, are you now?” Aziraphale appraised, setting his book to the side, burying one hand through red locks and rubbing up and down his back with the other. He ground his leg between Crowley’s legs something fierce. Crowley gasped out, eyelashes fluttering as he rolled his eyes back in his head. When he was able to focus again, Aziraphale was pinning him down with that smug bastard grin. “Why don’t you come here, love? I’ll tend to that for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the stirring of a growing shape beneath his slender stomach, excitement thrilled through Crowley’s chest. He clambered upwards into Aziraphale’s lap, pulling himself out of his boxer briefs and clamoring to free his lover’s cock from his pyjamas as well. His hands were swatted away, so he wrapped his arms tightly around Aziraphale’s neck and held on for dear life as Aziraphale worked them off together in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t anything proper. Not really. It was lazy and sleepy and slow and indulgent. Yet it still managed to keep Crowley suspended in that place where he couldn’t think of anything outside of this room. Couldn’t feel anything save for the strong, soft body beneath him. All that existed was Aziraphale. His scent, his body, his voice, muttering sweet nothings and praise into his ear. It sent rolling shocks of electricity up Crowley’s spine, pushing out crackling sighs and moans when it reached his skull and vibrated through it. Crowley wasn’t presently capable of complex thought, but surely if he was he’d be marveling at how only Aziraphale Fell could make him shortwire over some frotting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley wasn’t quite able to voice when he was at the point of needing to be pushed over, and yet there Aziraphale was, sucking a bruising mark to his pulse, pumping the slightest bit faster, curling a possessive arm around him and pulling out his orgasm as easily as a puppet master pulled the strings of its subjects. Crowley’s mind slipped into some spinning, colorful, dark, cozy place where time didn’t exist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he came back down from it, he was being carefully deposited on the other side of the sofa, cleaned up and tucked back into his boxer briefs before Aziraphale swaddled him with a blanket again. He’d come back with The Two Towers, because of course Crowley’s sweet man had planned on reading to him sometime over the trip, knowing that the boring voice of the audiobook’s narrator always lulled him to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time Aziraphale leaned back against Crowley’s chest, resting his head on his shoulder and letting Crowley wrap his arms around him, pet over his chest, squeeze around his shoulders, and nuzzle into his hair as he read. There was nothing Crowley loved more. No more calming thing on earth than this besides Aziraphale administering acupressure. He even did voices for Crowley, knowing it’d keep him involved in the narrative, and Crowley couldn’t love any bit of it more- any bit of Aziraphale more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They typically would only go for five-to-fifteen minutes before Crowley dove in with a barrage of questions and jokes Aziraphale would goodnaturedly pause to entertain. They made it through approximately four and a half cycles of such behavior until a hungry grumble interrupted. Crowley laughed, nuzzling into the crown of Aziraphale’s head for one last inhale before patting his shoulder, “Shove off, angel. Dinner time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale playfully pinned him down with his weight for a time, teasing about how wasn’t it him that was supposed to be calling the shots? Once Crowley had descended into a crushed pile of wheezing and snorting limbs, the pressure was relieved and he was let up to stand at last. He fumbled about for his phone for a time before finding it in the bedroom. His fingers moved on instinct, pulling up Beatrix’s contact information before hovering over the ‘call’ button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh- Aziraphale, do you mind if I call Bea? I know it might be a bit rude, given that it’s Valentine’s Day and all. It’s just that it’s been a few days and with this bender they’ve been on-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I don’t mind, darling. I owe my parents and sister a call, anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley flashed a grateful smile, ringing up Bealz as he toasted their sandwiches in the oven and heated their soup on the stove. Their answer wasn’t so much a greeting than a barrage of profanities. They sounded as if they were suffering the worst hangover of their life. He wasn’t far off, as apparently they had rolled impossibly hard on ecstasy the day before and woken up in the sketchiest imaginable flat of Tower Hamlets by a woman who made them crawl out the fire escape naked into the cold February air, throwing their clothes at them in a panic, thanking them hurriedly for the lovely time, and urging them to leave. Now they were at home, throwing up and suffering a horrendous come down. They were even too ill to go to the oddities trade they’d been looking forward to weeks. They’d asked how his trip had been, and after hearing of their own misery, he couldn’t help but keep it vague. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m with Aziraphale,” he’d said quite simply, as if it explained how wonderful, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect </span>
  </em>
  <span>the trip was. Perhaps it did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy it’s all going your way, love,” they replied. And it was honest and heartfelt, of course it was, but it felt like a stab in the heart. The blade of guilt sharp and jagged. He should be there. He should be catching them from their fall and wrapping them up in a blanket burrito and making all sorts of junk foods for them to fill their sorrow with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if they could read his mind, they were quick to interject, “Satan knows you deserve to catch a break. Happy Valentine’s, mate. Have fun with Daddy. Play safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not-,” Crowley started to shout, turning quite red when realizing Aziraphale was </span>
  <em>
    <span>right in the other room</span>
  </em>
  <span> and huffing, “Happy Valentine’s Trix. Miss you, you proper arsehole”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awwwh, don’t. One day back here and you’ll be begging to get away from me again. Cheers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line went dead, and Crowley pocketed his mobile, hearing the tail end of Aziraphale’s call as he plated their food. It felt safe to assume he was as flustered as Crowley had been a moment before. Safer to assume he was flustered over talk of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because once he noticed his partner was off his own call, he’d switched from English to what Crowley assumed to be Yiddish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, Dr. Fell, gossiping about me while I’m in the room? Really?” he teased when Aziraphale managed to get off the phone with his mother at long last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re referencing, my dear,” the aforementioned doctor huffed, taking a seat at the tiny cafe table in the corner of the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was quick to join him with a sharp grin, setting their food on the table and collapsing into his chair, bonelessly, “You’re a shit liar, you know that, angel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They discussed ideas for what to do the next day, their last full day of holiday. Crowley was only partly in it, his mind stuck on Bealz’ teasing about playing safe and discussions of boundaries. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t play back home, too, but loathe as Crowley was to admit it, he was worried about moving too slow for Aziraphale. Losing his interest. Coming across as such a prude Aziraphale would be disinterested in doing any sort of power play in bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t understand the difference. Why was Aziraphale so comfortable cutting him off from drinking any more after a certain amount of indulging, chiding him when he misbehaved, shooing him back into the bedroom to change when he wore shoes that were poor for walking with a long day ahead of them, forcing eight glasses of water down his throat a day, and bullying him into fixing his sleep schedule, but the moment there was any sexual connotation, he seemed hesitant to tell Crowley to do so much as strip. He was holding himself back, that much was clear. It was working on Crowley’s last nerve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking we could try something more fun today,” he interrupted very suddenly, when Aziraphale was discussing postmodern poetry or something of the like, “Uhm. Bondage, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale’s pupils noticeably dilated at the suggestion, but he finished chewing and swallowed, cleared his throat, took a drink of water, and folded his napkin. His attentions were turned to Crowley with such an undivided focus it made him squirm and regret raising the topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you not been having fun, my love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I mean- yes- fuck, I mean, no I’ve not been- not... having fun-?” Crowley rambled, noting Aziraphale’s raised eyebrow and rushing to elaborate, “It’s been a grand time, really. I just mean I’d like for you to- y’know- ‘play’ with me. Tie me up, If you’re amenable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The word felt weird on his tongue as he parroted it, perhaps because he was talking with all the knowledge of three and a half weeks of extensive google-based research. His face felt hot as he suddenly became very interested in the courtyard visible outside the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. That would depend. Have you done as I’ve asked?” Crowley heard him ask in an appraising tone. Boundaries. That’s what he was asking about. That’s what he’d been asking for every single time Crowley breached the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course I have. Just, dunno if I did it right. Dunno if I have it straight in my head in a way I can explain. That you’ll be happy with.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chanced a look at Aziraphale, who, much to his chagrin, appeared slightly frustrated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have I made you feel uncomfortable with being honest with me, Crowley? I hope you don’t think I could ever be disappointed in whatever you confide?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Crowley rushed out. He huffed in distress, nudging his mostly-cleaned plate towards the center of the table and drawing over the pattern of the tablecloth with an idle finger as he continued to avoid his lover’s gaze, “it’s just like I said. Words are your strong suit. Not mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I certainly wouldn’t say that,” Aziraphale chided with such an impossible gentleness as he reached across the table, taking Crowley’s hand into his own, “Why don’t you tell me the boundaries you’ve had with past Dominants and we can work from there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm.” Even with the little noise of hesitance, Crowley felt his voice crack. He inhaled deeply, preparing himself for the shameful admission, nearly a month coming, that he was entirely inexperienced with power play. What would Aziraphale think of him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He supposed he was about to find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t had any.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence that followed was so severe they might hear a pin drop. It drove him to bashfully look at Aziraphale’s face at long last. Pure confusion was written there. Outrage slowly trickled in until it was the prime resident, Aziraphale’s hand squeezing his in a protective death grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People have played with you without insisting on boundaries?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. He was really going to make him say it, wasn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No- nothing like that. I meant I haven’t had any…,” he trailed off for a moment, hating how small and pathetic his voice sounded when he spoke again, “er- Dominants. Proper-like. ” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rage left Aziraphale’s soft features. They took up such blankness from expression that Crowley strived not to panic and found himself lunging into an explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kind of a control freak. You know that- like to make sure everyone’s fine, everything’s as it should be, that I can run if I need to. Sure, I’ve been- y’know- dominated, I suppose, but nothing like what we’re talking about. Only can really give that up for you. There was never anyone else- anyone I trusted like I trust you. Never wanted anyone else to… you know. Fuck. It’s not like I’m a blushing virgin, I’ll have you-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you tell me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice was steady and void of emotion. A command by connotation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A steady swarm of panic buzzed beneath Crowley’s skin. He cleared his throat, and if his hand wasn’t trapped in Aziraphale’s, he might try to stand and busy himself with dishes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want you to think you have to hold back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold back what, might I ask?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley huffed, squirmed, looked everywhere but Aziraphale. The hard, analytic gaze upon him did not let up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to be good… y’know. For you. Want you to have what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do have what I want,” Aziraphale enunciated clearly, firmly, with such conviction there was no room for doubt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what you’re used to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will stop right there. That’s quite enough,” he demanded, and Crowley did, falling quiet. There was a beat of silence as Aziraphale seemed to pick up everything Crowley had carelessly strewn about. Tended to some organization that had to be done. Crowley heard him inhale again, a telltale herald of his continuation, “Whatever flavor of experiences you’ve had in the past, would you expect our sex life to be the exact same?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pondered the question, finding it bizarre, “Well, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. Every person is different. I’ve told you I enjoy fulfilling my partner’s needs. Needs differ greatly. Especially yours. I would never expect you to- </span>
  <em>
    <span>wish </span>
  </em>
  <span>for you to attempt to change something so innate for me. I’d never wish for you to change at all, unless it's for your own health and happiness, through a decision made by you and your therapist after great deliberation. You are going far too fast, Crowley. There’s no reason for you to feel pressured to do so. I’d think if you have learned anything about me at all, you might know I like to take my time to enjoy things.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Crowley said sheepishly, feeling quite the fool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this even something you truly desire?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley furrowed his brow, leveraging a glare at Aziraphale that looked like something much more akin to a pout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it is! Why wouldn’t it be? Why would I want to give you every fiber of control in my bloody life and backpedal as soon as we hit the bedroom?” he snarled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale frowned, fixing Crowley with that disapproval that gnawed away at his nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re very different.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How, pray tell?” he asked, annoyed at how petulant he sounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale pursed his lips, sitting back in his chair and fixing Crowley with a hard look. His voice went low and quiet and Crowley felt like stones were dropped into his stomach upon hearing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we’re going to discuss this matter seriously, I insist you stop pouting like a child who hasn’t gotten his way. Bristling at the idea that I might set a speed you’re too impatient for doesn’t quite foretell that you’re prepared to cede any control, let alone </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>control. Now, drop the attitude this instant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley shrank, hating the burning feeling of his own humiliation, guilt, and ignorance as his tantrum was brought to a screeching halt. Aziraphale had a point, loathe as he was to admit it. ‘Because I want it and I want it now’ wasn’t a very good reason to plunge ahead into uncharted waters with someone who didn’t know how to sail a damn ship. Not to mention throwing a fit was a bit lacking in finesse for a seduction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a few deep, measured breaths, ducking his head in an uncomfortable, prickling shame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, angel,” he muttered quietly, wanting to cry at the fact that he’d upset him, that he’d been a terrible brat. Wanting to scream into a pillow at the frustration. “I’m just confused. Honestly. I don’t understand why you’d be comfortable having charge over everything that matters and then step back when it gets recreational.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale fixed him with a long, analytical gaze that gradually softened before nodding. His voice came back just as quiet but much more gentle, regarding Crowley with a sweetness he didn’t deserve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, let’s wash up the dishes and go sit down with a nice cup of tea. I know you don’t particularly enjoy your soft spots being poked at, and I’d like you to be comfortable before we carry on with this discussion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley kept his gaze low, but nodded, collecting the dishes and carrying them to the sink. It was quiet as he washed the dishes and Aziraphale dried them. Tense in a way only he was causing. Aziraphale seemed to be very comfortable, anchoring him down, keeping the anxiety from running away with him. There was no reason to worry. Aziraphale would let him know if there was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale made tea for the both of them. The pair retired to the sofa where Crowley cuddled up to Aziraphale’s side with some soft coaxing. His lover wasn’t one to hold grudges, and Crowley ought to know that by now. So long as he did as he was asked, Aziraphale wouldn’t be cross with him. That didn’t rid him of the shame that he’d earned his disapproval or acted so childishly to begin with. He must have still betrayed signs of being worked into a state, because Aziraphale’s breathing was slow and steady. With some prolonged cuddles and slow patterns painted on his back, he found himself mirroring it. It was only when he was calm that Aziraphale spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darling,” he said softly, “this can really be explained very easily. You’ve given me control of your autonomy. From what I’ve seen and experienced, for many people- most people- it’s a thing they gain gradual control over during the course of their adolescence, something they slowly gain from a figure who loves and cares for them, managing it until they can independently. After earning such a precious thing, said people oftentimes dislike the idea of ever giving it up to anyone, for any amount of time. If they do get overwhelmed with it- if they wish for it to be someone else’s burden for a time- it’s typically in the bedroom where they know they’ll get it back as soon as the scene ends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In your specific situation, it’s a bit the other way around. Your responsibility over yourself was something thrusted onto you. Something that you didn’t have the privilege of being gradually given. If a person did have control over you, it wasn’t out of love or care for your psychological development. It was oppressive at best, leaving you to struggle with all the bits that truly mattered. It’s not something that you or anyone else really had a firm grapple on to begin with. It was a burden you never learned how to carry but were saddled with nonetheless. It’s my belief that really, it was quite easy- a relief, even- for you to surrender your autonomy to me because of the trust and love we’ve found together. I passed some sort of test that made me the first and only person you deemed deserving of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Crowley said. Perhaps at one time he might have taken discomfort in being psychologically picked apart, but after thirty years of therapy he’d learned it was best to let the nerves of it wash away and take the words into serious consideration, “that all checks out, I suppose. But it doesn’t really answer my question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Well,” Aziraphale tutted, leveraging him with a careful gaze, “I have a sneaking suspicion that the situation isn’t quite the same for your sexual autonomy, that you’ve always been quite comfortable in that control. Most people build sexual autonomy on top of their general autonomy. Since it was the other way around for you, surrendering in the bedroom will likely be a much more intimate issue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Crowley said very stupidly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt like someone was pointing out that the sun always rose in the east to him for the first time. An unchanging fact that he’d somehow remained ignorant of for fourty-two years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Total power exchange can be… well, harrowing to say the least. You could very well believe that you're ready, but when it comes down to it, when you cede your sexual autonomy- the one bit of control you still carry- to me, it would only be natural for you to spiral out or panic upon realizing it. I don’t want that. I don’t want to do anything that will cause you to be afraid or upset. I don’t want you to let go because I’m tearing it from your grasp. I want you to let go because it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>to let go, and no other reason.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Crowley said again even more stupidly, realizing out loud the importance of- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boundaries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boundaries,” Aziraphale confirmed, “I hope you understand now, why I’d never want to do so much as nudge them. Why I’d never want you to entertain doing something you weren’t truly very interested in. I’m sorry for not reading properly into your- well, your vague pacifications. I should have realized you were prying to find expectations you were under the belief you had to meet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shame took root in Crowley’s chest, slowly crawling outwards, crackling through the walls of his lungs. What a wretched brat he was. Cutting corners and putting Aziraphale in a position where he might have blamed himself for sordid, heart-breaking repercussions of Crowley’s dishonesty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry, angel,” Crowley sighed, staring into the flames of the fire, “It’s not your fault I’m a terrible, manipulative little shit. You deserve better than that. I just- just wanted to stall for a chance to learn what you thought I knew already.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re far too clever for such poor behavior, Anthony. Next time you will ask me outright. Is that understood?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded sheepishly, realizing Aziraphale was waiting for a proper answer before he blurted, “Yes. Understood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, and this is your last warning that the next time you use foul words against yourself you’ll get a bar of soap in your mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley grinned at the wicked glint in Aziraphale’s eye. It wasn’t a joke. It sent a jolt of adrenaline through him anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And with that understanding, the mood lightened significantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Past that point, I had always been under the impression that you were something more of a ‘hands-on’ learner. Am I wrong?” Aziraphale asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, not wrong at all,” Crowley hummed, pleased to have some stretching room after being pinned under Aziraphale’s thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale tugged him towards his lap. Crowley didn’t need to be asked twice, scrambling to straddle him and wrap his arms around his neck, freckling his face with sweet kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any subject in particular you’d like to experiment with?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bondage,” he hummed back without hesitation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The body under him grew a little stiff at the insinuation, and Crowley attempted to rub soothing circles against Aziraphale’s shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not suggesting that simply because it’s an interest of mine, I hope?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tsk tsk, so egotistical, Dr. Fell. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>about you,” Crowley teased, trying to coax him into relaxing with soft kisses. He wasn’t sure if it was his words or kisses that worked in the end, but something gave. Aziraphale’s arms wrapped securely around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, indeed. Do you have any experience with that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not much,” he answered honestly, “Some good, more bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation ended there, and he looked up from the button of Aziraphale’s collar to realize his partner was waiting for him to elaborate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” he said anxiously, “aren’t past fucks kind of shit pillow talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale only raised an expectant brow at him, and he ducked his head away from blue eyes, sighing as he steeled himself to dredge up past hurts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to like it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the more reason I should know,” Aziraphale insisted. At the telltale signs of Crowley working himself up, eyes anxiously pivoting about, Aziraphale brushed a hand over his cheek, kissing him softly. “It’s alright, my darling. I would never judge you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley fixed him with a sheepish smile, closing his eyes to take a deep breath, breathing in Aziraphale to remind himself that he was safe in his arms. Untouchable, even by panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. First time was when I was in college. Got tied up during a threesome with a couple other lads. They- er- spit roasted me. It was crude and rough, but I wanted to feel used- or, thought I wanted to. It’s taken me all this time, finding you, to realize maybe I just wanted to feel like I belonged to someone. In the meantime, I got what I was looking for. I was used like a bloody rubber to be thrown away after. It was great in the short term. Got me off well enough. Made me feel grimy and cheap and insignificant in the long term.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused, expecting to find disgust written across Aziraphale’s features. Expecting him to realize how used up Crowley was. To realize he wasn’t anything worth taking charge of or wanting or loving. Undeserving of an angel’s grace. Instead he found a bit of anger, some jealousy, some possessiveness, but no disgust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley,” Aziraphale muttered quietly, gathering him up close to kiss his cheekbone and mutter, “I love you and I want you. We all have a past. It’s alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he noticed. Of course he knew just what to say. How to tend to the hurt. Crowley smiled and hummed, kissing his cheek back before swallowing the thick protest of the next one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then there was the girlfriend I told you about when I was in my late twenties. The one who manipulated me with my insecurities. I didn’t give her any control over my autonomy. Didn’t stop her from taking it. She tied me bent over her desk. Convinced me to let her flog me. Insisted I had to be punished. I had a hysterical meltdown halfway through. She ridiculed me for it. Belittled me for ruining her fun. But she stopped, after all, so I guess I can’t complain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>complain,” Aziraphale bit out in a strained voice, his breathing slightly labored and his face reddened with fury. Crowley’s heart squeezed at the fact that Aziraphale would get so bent out of shape over an injustice that was fifteen years passed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Crowley hummed gently, cuddling close and resting their foreheads together, “It’s alright. I’m safe now. You’ve got me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t realize how deep the sentiment ran until after it was out of his mouth. His throat tightened. Aziraphale’s eyes watered. He hadn’t realized how true it was. The pains of his past couldn’t be changed, but the future looked bright. The arms around him were soft and strong, and nothing could hurt him now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The last one’s much better, I promise,” he whispered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Aziraphale said, appearing much more malleable now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lilith thought I ought to relax. Said I was always fussing over keeping everything going and I ought to let someone else take over for once. Handcuffed me to the coffee table and rode me, whispering at me to just let go. Let it be. I wasn’t wholly convinced, but I was intrigued. It was… it was really nice. Good, even. Suppose that’s why I’m interested. It’s hard to be a busybody when you’re physically restricted from lifting a finger. And when I think of you being the one to do it- to tie me up, it feels like… well, like a physical version of what we’re already doing emotionally. Me letting go, giving you control bit by bit, letting you shoulder all logistics. It sounds safe. It sounds…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cathartic,” Aziraphale finished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley grinned, jerking his head in a lazy nod. “Exactly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I like it,” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, hands sneaking under Crowley’s sleep shirt (well, technically it was his and the redhead had stolen it) to rub at the skin of his sides, “it’s more than simply knots or restraint. It’s a physical representation of trust, understanding, intimacy. It’s a constant ebb and flow of energy between you and your partner. For me, it feels like wrapping you up in ropes, holding you tight, is a way to physically entwine you in my love. Catch you fast inside it. Every knot keeping us present in our trust. It’s almost spiritual, really. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be cathartic, if it’s done correctly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Crowley hummed, buzzing with warmth at the description. He felt his face heat with a blush at the admission he made next, “When you put it like that, it sounds like acroyoga, a little bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley tore himself away, but only after being caught fast in Aziraphale’s arms and promising the silly man he’d be right back in his lap in just a moment. He padded into the kitchen where he left his mobile, snatching it up and returning to Aziraphale’s side to pull up pictures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve only done it a couple times. You have to really trust your partner. You can’t be afraid of connection, or it’ll make the experience stressed and uneasy for the both of you,” he explained, growing a little quieter as he admitted aloud, “I don’t… </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>talking about the spiritual part of yoga, it feels too intimate to share, but it’s what makes it so important to me. Every exhale, you purge all that weight into the universe, because who can hold it better than Her? Every inhale, you fill your lungs with all the potential and positivity She has to offer. All the meanwhile you have the whole weight of the earth to hold you up. It’s really grounding. And when you do acroyoga, you take away the theory of it all, the exchange is with a physical, breathing, feeling being. A circulation of energy and emotion with another person. Connection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile bright enough to take the place of the sun spread across Aziraphale’s face, and he kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose with a fondness that spilled over in troves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And here you were worried about learning. It seems you understand quite well, my clever devil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled, the heat in his face almost pleasant now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But acroyoga isn’t sexual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bondage doesn’t have to be either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He quirked his head, amber eyes widening in intrigued curiosity, “It doesn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all. It can be completely non-sexual. For comfort or healing or simple connection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds nice,” Crowley hummed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Though I think I’m interested in being tended to a bit more sexually, tonight,” Crowley clarified, a wicked grin blooming across his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re determined that it should include the element of restraint?” Aziraphale asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley withheld the urge to roll his eyes, knowing Aziraphale wouldn’t like it. Might even punish him for it. He understood, truly, but it made him no less annoyed at the presence of logical calculation in the bedroom. He supposed one of the two of them ought to have some functioning brain cells.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Aziraphale considered, “Then I think you’ll know what I require.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This truly was the ultimate test of suppressing his impulses for Crowley. As of now, he wished to throw himself onto the unoccupied space of the sofa and moan and groan and throw a fit. Or perhaps get himself shitfaced before spitting out the words. But Aziraphale had a firm grip on him and a firmer fixed glance, and the overwhelming power of the presence told Crowley to </span>
  <em>
    <span>behave. Comply. Let go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet again, he became immensely interested in the buttons of Aziraphale’s sleep shirt, humming as he unfastened and refastened them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still figuring it out a bit, but I think I figured out the uh- what are they called again? The ‘hard limit’s?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wonderful, darling. I’m so proud of you, I know that can be taxing to consider,” Aziraphale praised, somehow knowing without a word to suggest as much that Crowley was deeply in need of some bolstering if he was to spit it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled weakly, greedily stealing another soft, chaste kiss. His heartbeat was heavy in his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, actually-,” he hesitated, opting to build up to it, “can we talk about the… erm… general arrangement, first? There’s some stuff I want to clarify.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always, my love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He preened a bit at the pet name, allowing himself to get a bit more comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have much to say about it. Like I said, I don’t mind you scolding or punishing me, so long as I deserve it. You do a bang-up job of brat-taming, just please never make me feel like my real emotions, the ones at the root of it, are stupid or trivial- that’s the fast track for spiraling out: me feeling unheard. Uhm… I can’t imagine you would want to, but I don’t want to be struck. I don’t mind being spanked, but at least until I get used to it, I’d like to limit it to only being with your hand. In general, if you pull rank on me, I’d assume there’s a reason for it. I’m so eager to please you it casts a shadow on my logical thinking, sometimes. Please don’t throw that power around, I’d imagine that’d do a number on my feelings- y’know, if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>feelings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gave him a dubious look before grinning. He moved as if he was about to kiss Crowley, but held himself back. Perhaps he didn’t want to underscore the severity of such an important topic by distracting him with easy affections.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would never toy with your emotions, darling. Not when you’ve been so brave as to trust me with them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley leveraged him with a weak grin, heart fluttering at the sweetness. It took a moment to refocus on what he’d meant to say next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, and- well, you’ve been doing a stellar job with this already, but the only time I want to drop our dynamic is- mmmh, at work. I’ve been doing things a certain way for twenty years. It’s taken a lot of talking with my therapist and fighting my mood disorder and trial and error, but I’ve figured out a good work balance. A way to excel at my job. You know how seriously I take that. I don’t want to sacrifice that because I’m worried about displeasing you or talking back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale opened his mouth with the clear intention of delivering a quip, but let it die, likely recalling how sensitive Crowley was when he bared his soul. He chewed on his cheek, eyes distant and analytical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a hard limit for you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley raised his brows, thinking it over. Aziraphale wouldn’t ask unless he had something important in mind. Something Crowley had overlooked when considering it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose not. What’s on your mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale shifted, reaching for his tea and indulging in a long, contemplative sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll drop the dynamic at work- unless you’re spiraling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It suddenly flooded Crowley all at once. The moments he’d grow flustered and overwhelmed, and Aziraphale would reassign him to a task that forced his brain to switch gears, to let go of the stress. The time he’d found him in the closet, crying from a migraine, and paused everything to chase it away with a magic touch. The suicide attempt they’d recieved together, when Crowley had felt on the verge of falling to pieces, so incompetant and incapable until Aziraphale redirected him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure I can count on your discretion?” he asked thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always, darling,” Aziraphale hummed, pleased his proposition was considered and sending the impulse to preen bursting through Crowley as if he’d been praised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal,” Crowley agreed, playfully sticking out his hand to shake on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale rolled his eyes but ceded a grin, taking his hand and instead lifting it to kiss his knuckles, sending butterflies fluttering through Crowley’s heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything else?” he asked, blue eyes appraising Crowley with such patient understanding. Crowley had a sneaking suspicion Aziraphale would sit there and allow him to prattle nearly every condition in the world if it meant ensuring his comfort. The idea shot a surge of warmth through his stomach, and he couldn’t help but beam and squeeze Aziraphale in a tight embrace, humming happily before leaning back to take in his partner’s expression again. Aziraphale looked like he might melt at the soft affection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for that side of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Aziraphale asked, “On to hard limits in the bedroom, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley nodded, scratching the hair at Aziraphale’s nape as he thought. He bit his lip. Aziraphale gently tugged to free it, caressing his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright love. There’s no limit you could set that would possibly disappoint me. I want to give you everything you need. I want to shield you from what you don’t,” he promised in a hushed voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley felt himself settle, taking another few deep, grounding breaths before setting in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not into being hurt or frightened or diminished, whatever weird implements of torture that entails. I’m really not into whips and floggers, but I could budge on that if you’ve got your heart set. Same goes for spanking as I said earlier. Though I don’t mind being handled roughly, scratches and bruises and bites and the like- I like those, really. Love getting my hair pulled. Dirty talk’s fine as long as it’s affectionate. Please… don’t- er- spit on me,” he felt stupid for the way he phrased it as soon as it was out of his mouth. Aziraphale was doing his best at remaining patient and receptive, but there was obvious incredulity in his eyes from the insinuation. Crowley laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I didn’t think you’d want to do that, but we’re being thorough here, right? Right. I’d generally rather only deal with saliva and cum, fluids-wise. That said, you can come on me pretty much anywhere you’d like except in my eyes or my hair. Don’t demoralise me on purpose. Don’t make me feel like I’ve disappointed you if I haven’t, though I suppose that circles back to ‘don’t toy with my feelings’- again, if I theoretically had any. Don’t suffocate or strangle me. Choking me is fine if it's with your cock, but not your hands. Uh- with bondage, be careful not to cut off my circulation, I have enough trouble with that as it is. If you leave the room, tell me where you’re going and when you’ll be back; I imagine I’d get panicky if you leave me alone. Other than that, use me- that is- </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoy </span>
  </em>
  <span>me however you’d like. Ugh. I’m sorry, angel. I’m all over the place. That sounds like so much…,” he trailed off, scrubbing a hand over his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not, darling. Not at all,” Aziraphale firmly reassured, “Thank you ever so much for sharing. I know you have a particularly difficult time drawing lines in the sand with me. I’m ever so proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Crowley hummed, feeling his heart flutter, adjusting to sit sideways on Aziraphale’s lap, and letting his head drop to his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was held fast for a long, quiet moment before he realized the tricky bastard was taking his pulse again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, we don’t need to do anything too exciting until you’re ready for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley huffed in irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Aziraphale, I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>fragile.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sounded a hum of argumentative disagreement, and Crowley sucked his teeth, sitting upright to swat at Aziraphale’s arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was greeted with a soft, fond smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there anything that would make you feel more comfortable?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley hesitated at that, thinking it over before hatching an idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if we talked it out first? What we plan to do? That way there are no surprises. It’s all agreed on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale gave him a fond ‘oh, honey, bless your heart…’ brand of smile that he had no idea what he’d done to deserve but succeeded in making him feel a little foolish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s generally how it goes, darling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any ideas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Getting off. Getting you off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How imaginative,” Aziraphale deadpanned. The toothy grin was no sooner leveraged than it was returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d say my strength is listening to other peoples’ plans and then making grand improvements on them. So go on then. Let me improve upon your terrible ideas,” Crowley teased, drawing patterns idly over Aziraphale’s heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His angel fell into quiet thought, mulling it over and nosing into red locks as he did so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. I think we should get you comfortable with the idea of being restrained before doing anything creative. Why don’t I tie you to the headboard for a time? Keep you cozy and comfortable. Let you get used to it, get you into a state you feel safe and protected. Once you are, I can spoil you a bit. Use my mouth and fingers to get you excited. Oh, and if you’re amenable, I just bought a vibrating plug you might like. If it’s not too much, I’d absolutely adore to bring you to the edge and take you away from it. Just once would be enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ohh, yes, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>amenable to that idea,” Crowley hummed, a thrill buzzing up his spine and vibrating his skull, rendering his thoughts delightfully fuzzy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Do you like edging, darling?” Aziraphale asked, his voice going low and gravely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s cock gave a stir of interest in his pants, and he leaned forward, nibbling on his lover’s lower lip. “I just might be. I told you I want you to play with me. I’m sure it’ll be fun for the both of us. Not to say I won’t complain at the time, but you seem more than proficient with a spot of brat-taming.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Crowley-taming, more like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bastard grin was back, sending Crowley swooning, and the hands beneath his shirt became a bit more exploratory. Their patterns weren’t anything exciting enough to bring satisfaction- only enough to tease him with the idea of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall we step to it, then?” he murmured into Crowley’s ear before nibbling on his ear lobe. He gave a low, pleased grumble at the shiver that wracked Crowley’s slender body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait, wait- I haven’t improved upon your idea yet,” Crowley hummed, already loose and hazy with the comfortable promise of sex looming over his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Aziraphale laughed, “I do apologize, darling. How careless of me. Do share.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The second time you work me up, I want you to bring yourself off with my mouth. I want you to take your pleasure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley, that might be too much to begin with-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s fingers dug into Aziraphale’s arm, “Please. Please, angel. I want it. I want you to fuck my mouth. I’ve wanted it since that night after Rocky Horror.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With your hands bound, how would you tell me to stop if it’s too much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d snap. I can do it. If I can’t, you can call it off, but please. Please, angel. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>it,” Crowley panted, working himself into a state by the thoughts of their plans alone. His pulse began thrumming hard in his ear. His mouth grew dry. His head dazy. He clawed weakly at Aziraphale’s clothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Aziraphale contemplated after a time, “We’ll see how you’re doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aziraphale,” Crowley whined with a pout. Aziraphale tutted, grasping Crowley’s chin and pulling the space below his lower lip to free it from where it was worried beneath his teeth. He sucked it between his own, nibbling and glossing his tongue over it before exploring Crowley’s mouth deeply, tantalizingly. As he pulled back, he looked entirely collected, leaning back to take in Crowley, who was already in a tizzy, and giving him a calm, appraising gaze up and down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Complain and we’ll see if you get anything at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bastard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we start?” Crowley asked, unable to even pretend he wasn’t every bit as eager as he felt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose if there’s nothing else-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley practically launched off his lap in a dead sprint to the bedroom, hopping onto the bed and throwing off his socks and shirt as he went. He impatiently awaited Aziraphale’s presence, only receiving it several moments later as his partner calmly walked in, sounding a low chuckle at Crowley’s enthusiasm and arranging the books he’d had out in the sitting room in a tidy stack on the chest of drawers. If it weren’t for the tenting in his pyjama trousers, there would be nothing assuming about his presence at all. He dug through his bag, withdrawing a bottle of lube, a black plug, a remote, and a long sash of shimmering dark red silk that made Crowley’s heart beat something vicious upon spotting. He bided his time in setting them out on the nightstand, crawling onto the bed beside Crowley with the silk in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley was momentarily shooed away while Aziraphale arranged the pillows behind him, in the center of the dark wood headboard made up of vertical beams. When he was finally satisfied, he guided Crowley back onto them, cooing and fussing over him in a way that made the redhead swoon. Crowley’s right wrist was taken in broad hands, receiving a tender, reverent kiss over the scars that marred it before it was brought to a beam a comfortable distance away from his hip and pressed to the cool wood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this placement alright? Any strain or discomfort in that position?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘S fine. Get on with it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was sure to pin him down with a long, severe look that made Crowley swallow hard. “I shan’t. You’ll be in this position for some time, dear boy. It’s important that you’re comfortable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley, being the careless twat that he was, nearly made a jab about Aziraphale taking him however he wanted, that he was just going to deny him orgasm anyway and wasn’t that uncomfortable? Then he remembered what he’d said about trust, love, and communication and nodded instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good. No strain at all, promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satisfied with that, Aziraphale tied down his wrist with the soft, cool silk, running the remainder of the sash behind the headboard and pulling it through the other side. He took Crowley’s other wrist, giving it the same loving treatment and asking approval again before tying it. Crowley fisted his hands, giving an experimental tug and finding Aziraphale had done a thorough job. The fact sent a thrill through his stomach, giving both his heart and his cock a jolt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waited for it to begin but was confounded as he simply felt a blanket arranged meticulously over him. Aziraphale stood to grab The Lord of the Rings off the nightstand, crawling onto the bed beside his trapped lover and arranging his own nest of pillows before getting comfortable. A broad palm rested on top of Crowley’s thigh, thumb rubbing patterns over the outer flesh, where there were no erogenous nerves at all compared to the inner expanse. His reading glasses were placed meticulously on the bridge of his nose. He thumbed through the book with his free hand, finding the place where they’d stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Crowley interrupted just as his lips parted to read aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale turned, giving him an attentive look from over his glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What we only just agreed on a moment ago, my dear. Is there something you need?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley pouted, “I need your hands on me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a hand on you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, both of them,” he demanded, “and preferably touching my skin, not petting me from over a blanket.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale raised his brow. A wave of reality surged over Crowley. The first of many, he assumed. He was dragged under the tide, waterboarded for a moment with the fact that he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely </span>
  </em>
  <span>at Aziraphale’s mercy. He tugged at the silk ties again. His heart beat something vicious against his chest. His bollocks drew up in a tightened squeeze in the face of his vulnerability. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We agreed,” Aziraphale said shortly, calmly, informatively, “to get you comfortable first. We don’t go off script. We don’t skip steps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>comfortable,” Crowley spat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really?” his partner drolled in mock amusement, both eyebrows raised now, “From where I stand I had mistaken you for squirming around fussily and giving me cheek. Interesting, isn’t it, that I might not mistake that for comfort?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley huffed, the only thing he could really do to stage a moody little tantrum, but fell quiet after evaluating the situation. Evidently, complaining would only set him back. He’d put himself entirely under Aziraphale’s charge, after all, and if there was one thing he knew about his lovely hedonist, he bided his time when chasing enjoyment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squirmed his last before submitting to the reality of Aziraphale’s power, settling back against the pillows. He grew dizzy from the realization, that high of submission creeping into the edges of his grasp on the present. Aziraphale seemed to note his milder attitude, his obedient gaze, his hazy mindset, because he cooed, brushing the back of his fingers over Crowley’s cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s my sweet darling. You’re going to be such a good boy for me, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goose flesh chased down every inch of Crowley’s skin, and he shivered. Why did he ever bother with being a brat when he was awarded like this when he wasn’t? He opened his mouth to respond properly, but his mouth felt dry, his tongue too big, glued to the roof of his mouth. He managed a meek nod instead and gasped in spite of himself as he was awarded with a sweet kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I knew you would be, my dearest heart. Shall I read to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another nod. His fingers curled loosely where his wrists limply hung from the headboard. Aziraphale’s hand snuck beneath the blanket, splaying over his lower back. He curled closer, speaking in a soft but clear voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too easy for Crowley to close his eyes. Too easy to let the rest of reality slip from his fingers. Too easy to find himself in Middle Earth, traveling alongside Sam and Frodo. Aziraphale’s voice was so intoxicating. Hypnotic. Crowley fell into the rhythm of it. The emphasis of his words. The push and pull, like a tide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a time, the words lost their meaning, each syllable a profound whisper into existence that wrapped around Crowley, pulled his devoted attention. No other noise existed other than that voice. The world fell far, far away. He didn’t need to worry about it. He wasn’t inclined to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anthony,” he heard, a muffled call, distant, like he was submerged in water. Aziraphale was talking to him. Focusing on him. Tending to him. The thought wrapped around him like a blanket, pulling out a long, happy hum. Waves of electricity burst through Crowley, a sensation through his whole body. He focused on it. Honed in. Found the source coming from pressure on his inner thigh. Hot. Wet. So good. He sounded a euphoric laugh. Surprisingly, he felt no impulse to grab at it, letting it wash over him instead. Aziraphale had him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pressure massaged against his perineum for a time, balls cradled and lifted, fondled generously, the wet heat making itself known at the crest between them. Each sensation pulled a fresh noise out of him, not that he could pay himself any mind. Couldn’t care for what was coming out of him. As of this moment, he had very little capacity for focus. What he did have was spared for the marvelous sensations, bursting out tiny explosions of euphoria, rocketing and whistling through his stomach, his chest, erupting at his fingertips and toes like fireworks. A pressure appeared at the base of his cock, heat crackling up his shaft, suction pulling the foreskin stretched around his tip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A vicious spasm shot through his body, and he was powerless to do anything but let it. He was drifting farther and farther away. It was fine. Aziraphale had him safely tethered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt pleasure swirl around him again and again in unhurried bouts, wrapping around and around and around until it encompassed every inch of his body. It rocked him to his core. He rode the waves bonelessly, allowing himself to be ravished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each pulse of pleasure short circuited his brain just a bit farther. Squeezed his lungs. The bouts were coming from inside him now, fulfilling a primal need to be filled. He quivered around it, milked it mindlessly, coaxing it in further, seeking out more and more, aching to please and provide in compensation for the pleasure he was blessed with. Then a wave hit him in such a fashion that the air was knocked out of him entirely. His brain went dark. Whatever needs his body had were replaced with white hot, carnal pleasure. In his state of trance, he couldn’t manage to consider that the earth-shattering effect had been incited by a simple nudge against his prostate. It faded back out, came back stronger. Again. Again. Pummeling the air out of his lungs. He’d scream if he could. He was lost to it, so far gone he couldn’t fathom the place he drifted. Then it slipped away, as mysteriously as it’d come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt empty for a moment, but couldn’t mourn it when a wet, warm pressure took him half-way to his hilt. He felt stretched like warmed puddy, growing fuller than ever. Then he was buzzing, literally, the pleasure shocking him down to his toes, which curled into warm pools of softness, dug at them. His hands were still trapped, but what could he possibly wish to do? Where could he even consider going? He was cared for. Filled and compounded with pleasure at the hands of the love of his life. His angel.</span>
  <span> Aziraphale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale was filling him up. That soft, pleasant voice was in his ear. He could hardly take it. At capacity for love. At capacity for being filled. Each hardy, generous stroke around his length shot little jolts through every single vein, lighting up the synapses in his brain like a bloody Christmas tree. All that pleasure. All that euphoria, and it was almost rendered completely futile compared to the dark abyss of ecstasy that enveloped him at the thought that he was entirely Aziraphale’s. Full up with him. His angel was </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. So close, so close to taking him completely. Dominating him entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Once he’s had you, he won’t want you anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he was doused with an ice cold bucket of water, Crowley was ripped from his cozy, white-hot, dreamy state, taking in a terrified, shuddering gasp of air. He felt sick to his stomach as he opened his eyes and reality smacked him like a bat to the head. It took him several attempts at blinking to comprehend his surroundings, at last finding Aziraphale caging him in, stroking his saliva-streaked cock. Hearing him coo sweet praises about how pretty he was when he cried, how well he took it all, how sensitive he was, how proud Aziraphale was of him, how he </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserved </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be ravished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale looked more content, more satiated than Crowley had ever seen him. He was stripped naked, his thick, cut cock stiff and red between his legs, pupils blown wide with lust, lips wet, his hands blessing Crowley with his reverent, undivided attention. It was so pure, his love, most certainly undeserved. Crowley wanted to cry at it. Oh- he was crying already. He didn’t recall that starting up or feeling the wetness on his face. The toy was hard at work, likely on one of its lowest settings but drawing sobs and wracking shivers out of Crowley regardless. Aziraphale was so positively pleased. So at peace, in his own meditative state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he wasn’t inside him. Of course he wasn’t. It was a plug. He’d told him there would be one. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>it before. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>vibrating, </span>
  </em>
  <span>for fuck’s sake. What a bloody idiot he was. Scaring himself half to death when there was no reason to be afraid. Here he was supposed to be trusting Aziraphale. He felt like he’d failed him. He felt like a shitty submissive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’s body was on the brink of being shoved over, leaking over Aziraphale’s fist and onto his belly, but in his panic, it was overwhelming in the most harsh, prickly, unpleasant fashion possible. Adoring eyes raised to assess him, no doubt something they’d been doing quite often. The praises cut short. The dazed look in Aziraphale’s beautiful blue eyes vanished at breakneck speed. The plug turned off abruptly, making him shudder uncomfortably at the sudden lack of sensation against the raw, oversensitive flesh of his rim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anthony, my dear? Color?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The impulse to lie was overwhelming, but Aziraphale had promised to help tamper his impulses. Aziraphale couldn’t take care of him if he didn’t know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Crowley was honest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ye- yeh, ah, huh, yellow,” he managed out when his vocal chords agreed to work the fifth time through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s all he needed really, a moment to shake off the rude, intrusive thought that had attempted to sabotage his good time. He wanted to go back to that intoxicating trance. Wanted Aziraphale to get him off there. Wanted to choke on the euphoria of it- well, that and Aziraphale’s cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, love,” Aziraphale dutifully said, reaching for Crowley’s wrists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brain slow and sluggish, it took Crowley a second to register he was shifting to untie him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-noooooo, please! Ah- Angel!” he begged weakly, feeling like he might fall apart if he was released now. He wasn’t ready for that pressure. Wasn’t ready to be thrown back down to reality, “just… water…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An internal conflict occurred behind Aziraphale’s eyes as he clearly decided whether or not to respect Crowley’s spike in anxiety as cause to simply pause and not stop entirely. He gave Crowley a thorough assessment, seeming to find something in his manner satisfactory, and he reached for the cup of water he’d prepared, shifting close to Crowley and pouring small, manageable sips for him between attempts to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright, Crowley? Do you want to talk about it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nnnh. S- mn. Scared meself. Got confused. 'S all good now. I’m game.” His words were so slurred. So poorly constructed. He hadn’t the faintest clue how Aziraphale understood what he was saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure? I know you wouldn’t lie to me.” It was more of a command than a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Crowley sighed wistfully through a shiver, dizzy again under the reminder of power, “Trust me. You cannae- you’re doing- fucking- fuck, angel. Blowing my- bloody- goddamn mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small, modest smile crossed Aziraphale’s face, but concern was still prominent in his hard, dominating gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do appreciate positive feedback. You’re sure you don’t want to stop? I would never, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>wish for you to soldier on for my sake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley whined petulantly, another sob squeezing out, squirming and realizing he’d sunk lower against the headboard sometime during his trance, “Want it! Wa- want- want you to fuck my face. Starvin’ for it! Begging you! Please, angel!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale, the bastard, had the audacity to laugh out loud. Crowley wanted to be offended. At least to pretend to be. But his cock gave a hard jolt at the reaction- at the uselessness he had while bound and served up all for Aziraphale’s liking. He felt dizzy at Aziraphale’s power. He felt like he could come untouched, just basking in that presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My incorrigible darling. Alright. If you’re sure. Snap for me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley obeyed immediately, heart hammering in his chest and his hard length dripping precum over his belly at the promise of it. The residue of his hypnosis still humming through his mind, the snap echoed through his head again and again and again. He was slowly siphoned more water. It made the edges crisper. Made the erotic air pressure him comfortably like a weighted blanket. He nearly asked Aziraphale to read to him again, but naturally, Aziraphale didn’t need to be informed what it was that Crowley needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So wonderful for me,” he cooed, the praise drawing out a needy, dizzied whine from somewhere in Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale smiled, stroking his cheek, “I know, my sweet thing. I know. If you need me to stop, even for you to catch your breath, don’t hesitate to do just so. Close your eyes for me, Anthony.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He obeyed. He felt Aziraphale move to his side. A hand plunged into his hair, stroking with just the right cocktail of petting, massaging, and tugging. The other rubbed calming circles into his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are, my dearest heart. Just relax. I have you. My sweet, precious thing. You’re perfect for me. So clever. So kind. All mine. I love you ever so dearly, you know. Desire you so terribly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The key words clicked. It was as if Crowley was in a hammock and they were the breeze to start up the momentum. He rocked back and forth with reality after that. Swaying in and out and in and out. Hypnotically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let go, my love. Let go. Let me take it. Let me have you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley wasn’t about to argue. He wanted to be taken. He wanted to belong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did just as much, honing in again on the timbre of Aziraphale’s voice more than the words it formed. It was a slow process, getting back there. He tugged at his wrists again for the much-needed reminder, shocked when they catapulted him further into that warm fuzzy place he’d been before. Aziraphale had him. Aziraphale would take care of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was some time before he was drifting in that space again, his whole body a vast chamber that echoed every sentiment that Aziraphale dropped into it, like a pebble into a cavern. It was calm at first. Meditative. It wasn’t until the relentless vibrations of fullness stretched through his expanses that he realized he’d grown nearly flaccid in his coziness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon he was full to the brim again. Overflowing with it. Weeping out the excess. He tried to open his eyes at one point to find the ceiling, but it was disorienting to say the least. He couldn’t comprehend something so far away. He couldn’t comprehend anything that wasn’t incited by his lover. So he closed them again, and let the wonder that was Aziraphale Fell wash over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That warm, humid pressure was back over his cock again, steady, thrumming alongside his pulse. He felt folded, somehow. He couldn’t explain it if he was asked. Then again, he wasn’t sure he was capable of comprehending any questions right now, let alone answering them. Then there was a pressure in the center of each of his feet’s soles, and he felt snapped open. A chasm that he hadn’t ever known revealed itself in him, which was all well and good, because it seemed the entire bloody thing was devoted to echoing pleasure. Compounding it in a way he’d never thought possible. His nail beds hurt, for some reason. He couldn’t be pressed to give less of a fuck, compared to the waves of euphoria that pummeled him relentlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pressure vanished, but the chasm had been opened now and gave no indication of shutting any time soon. His mouth was open. A pressure slid across his lower lip. He darted his tongue out to feel the intrusion, tasting salt and skin, and fireworks went off behind his vision. The vibrations turned higher, and he felt caught in the tide, getting hit again and again and again as his mouth was filled more and more and more. Some primal need in him was being satiated. Some carnal desire to be filled entirely. With love. With desire. With Aziraphale. He writhed, arms uselessly limp at his sides, not knowing what to do with this sense of fulfilment or satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was only left wanting for air, his lungs burning, his throat constricting as it was intruded. He didn’t mind it. Not really. Not when every other sensation was satiated in a manner he never could have fathomed. He was Aziraphale’s. His to love and fill and have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all built to a pressure point. Burst past it. Overflowed. A silent wave of power erupted. So powerful it snapped apart atoms. Expanded nothingness into a universe, collided together with such might that entire galaxies were blown into existence. Parts of him he’d never known were catapulted into a never ending chain of </span>
  <em>
    <span>creation. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never known pleasure like this. Bliss that could possibly be comparable. No shavasana of his life had opened his third eye to ebb and flow of the Cosmos he was floating in now. He drifted away from his physical body. Full. Satiated. Loved. Wanted. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Belonging. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This was something far greater than autonomy. This was everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was Nirvana. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drifted for what felt like eternity in that vast nothingness, experiencing a contentment he’d never known. He considered not coming back, but then he became aware of that voice. So warm. So comforting. All his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had never left, had it? It’d been calling him, all the while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How rude of him not to answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Color filled his vision that refused to focus into any definite shape. He tried to come back to his body. A difficult task, when each inch was filled with the same content, buzzing bliss. But there was motion there. Not his own, but Aziraphale’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, the realization that he was being held crept into his mind. He thoughtlessly searched with his fingers, feeling about for sometime before realizing the simple fact that he could. He tasted his mouth, filled with bitter saltiness that he quickly and giddily realized was the taste of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aziraphale. </span>
  </em>
  <span>His throat burned slightly, and he couldn’t care less. His lungs were working hard to regain breath. He basked in the ache of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> He raised to clasp weakly at the arms he was gathered in, the strong, bare body that was gently rocking him. He was unbound. He felt a bite of sadness for it. That was silly, wasn’t it? Nothing was gone. Nothing was broken. Aziraphale was right here, and he had him. There remained to be nothing to worry about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realized, with a pleasant thrill through his heart, that Aziraphale was singing to him. What, he had no idea; It wasn’t in English. But it was nice and comforting and allowed him to drift in the ways he still could until he was ready to come down the rest of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley’d never seen the appeal of taking his time until this moment. The anxiety had never let him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For what felt like the first time of his life, anxiety was a stranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, he raised his head, searching for Aziraphale’s eyes. He found them. The soft blue pools practically gleamed as they caught his own amber pair. The singing abruptly stopped, but how could Crowley mourn when he was being beamed at with the sunniest, most gorgeous smile he’d seen in his life?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hullo,” Aziraphale chirped, looking chipper as anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Crowley wistfully sighed back, soft and starry-eyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he wasn’t already wrapped up in Aziraphale, he would throw himself at him, clamber around him, and drown him with adoring kisses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found, much to his own shock, to be physically unable. His limbs felt like they weighed one thousand kilograms a piece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he fought the exhaustion, battling harder than a bloody Roman gladiator to deliver just one single, sweet kiss. He collapsed against Aziraphale after imparting it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell’s fucking bells. Do you know, I almost died and joined the bloody cosmos until I realized you couldn’t fuck me again if I did? Fucking- fuck- fuck, I love you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt the rumble of Aziraphale’s quiet laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I love you, sweet pet- I’m glad you enjoyed it. I would hope so; you seemed to be worlds away,” he responded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘M sorry,” Crowley mumbled, “didn’t mean to check out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale sounded an abrupt scoff, “‘Sorry’? Are you fibbing, my darling? Surely, you must be. Do you have any idea what it does to me knowing that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>did </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Putting you so deep in that space, making you feel that safe and relaxed to be comfortable dwelling there- good Lord. It was absolutely divine. You can’t imagine how you’ve inflated my ego. I’m shocked it’s not suffocating you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said stupidly, and was far too tired to care, “So that’s good then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you enjoy it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. I’m pretty sure I witnessed the Big Bang. So. Yeah. I’d say I had one hell of a time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another low chuckle. Aziraphale buried his face into Crowley’s hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then yes,” he muttered, laying a sweet kiss to Crowley’s tattoo, “it’s good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley smiled, nuzzling up under Aziraphale’s jaw, inhaling the dull scent of his cologne, nearly masked by sweat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How ‘bout you? I have- and I’m not exaggerating- </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally </span>
  </em>
  <span>no recollection of what happened on a physical plane of reality. How was it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My orgasm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ineffable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley paused, fighting the exhaustion to lift his head and deliver a cheeky grin at Aziraphale, “your orgasm was ineffable?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Been telling you that you ought to fuck my mouth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale laughed, nuzzling in close. It was quiet for a time as they rocked back and forth, naked bodies fused together. Crowley wasn’t sure where he ended and Aziraphale began. It felt as natural as breathing. The most comforting phenomenon imaginable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You called yellow,” Aziraphale mentioned at last. Crowley should have known he would. Of course his partner would follow up, when he’d tasked himself with caring for Crowley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got disoriented,” Crowley mumbled, “scared myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had said. How so?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘M so tired,” he sighed. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t tell Aziraphale. He would. He just wasn’t sure he had the capacity to grapple such a topic. Still, he felt cracked open like a coconut, all at Aziraphale’s fingertips, no doubt he’d pour out whatever his angel asked for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, my darling, you’ve done so wonderfully for me,” Aziraphale cooed, petting his cheek and kissing the crown of his head, “Just share with me this one thing and you can nod off. I’ll take care of all the rest. You don’t need to worry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have energy after that?” Crowley asked dubiously, in awe of his beloved at the concept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I daresay I could walk on water just about now. It’s quite a rush, having you in such a fashion,” Aziraphale laughed lowly, settling to give Crowley his undivided attention, “Now what is it that frightened you, my darling Anthony?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yikes. Word vomit incoming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you were fucking me- that is- inside me,” he spat out before he could hesitate. He rushed to continue when he felt Aziraphale cease their rocking, tense with shock, take a deep breath to argue, “-I know- I know you’d never do that without discussing it with me first. It’s just like I said, I got confused. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently the cost of a world-shattering orgasm that made him see the bloody face of God was his emotional competence bursting to fucking smithereens. He teared up, and before he knew what was happening, a lump lodged itself in his throat, threatening to pour out into an unassuming bawling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I know you’d never throw me out after. But I still- I still- I’m so scared, Aziraphale,” he blubbered, a sob ripping out of his chest. How bloody embarrassing. What good reason did he have to be breaking down like a child? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because I’m terrified of living without you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>One thought about it and a gaping hole was blasted through his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the ticket. He descended into hysterical, heart wrenching sobs, a pile of loose limbs and tears and devastation. Aziraphale didn’t seem worried, only expertly attentive, taking up a blanket, wrapping it tight around him, and pushing a glass of water into his hands to gently bully him into drinking. He rocked him again, hushing him gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhhh. Don’t be sorry. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going anywhere, my love. I have you. I love you. I want you. Just rest. All is well. I’m here. You couldn’t be safer, Anthony. My precious darling- Let go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like the magic words of a hypnotist, the two words flipped a switch. Shut something off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * * </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley woke to a face full of sunshine and wasted no time in snarling, squinting blearily in the light of it. A hand was firmly planted in the space between his shoulder blades. He turned over to shrink away from the unwelcome rays, finding the warm form of Aziraphale and suctioning to it, wrapping his limbs over his body, shoving his face against him, and sounding a reluctant whine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A low chuckle sounded. An arm wrapped around him. Fingers folded through his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, my sweet little koala.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley groaned a sound of protest, inhaling deeply. He didn’t smell anything akin to sweat or sex, instead finding the scent of shampoo and conditioner, body soap and laundry powder. He was clothed in his favorite sleepwear, a sweater and his pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his brain started chugging to life just enough to make words happen, he angled his chin up and blinked the world to life. Aziraphale had a book on his hip, and was dressed again in his pyjamas. Crowley didn’t want to know the disaster that was his own hair after drying in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did we shower last night?” he asked incoherently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I’d take care of everything,” Aziraphale countered with a fond, teasing note. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know why I was so tired,” Crowley groaned, “I didn’t even do anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my darling,” his partner sighed, tearing away his gaze from his book at long last to leverage a sympathetic look at Crowley, “you did quite a lot, on the contrary. Letting go like you did can be incredibly taxing, in a way. I thought for a moment you were going to slide straight into sleep after orgasm.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley felt his face heat. He was still a bit taken aback that his body- his </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind </span>
  </em>
  <span>were capable of experiencing something like that. He felt a bit betrayed that they didn’t check him into the fucking program until forty goddamn two years of age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. That’s never happened to me before. Nothing even close. I’m blaming you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will proudly take full accountability,” Aziraphale hummed, sounding positively delighted as he turned back to his reading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you ever do fuck me, I might have a bloody stroke,” Crowley teased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realized he’d put his foot in his mouth when Aziraphale fixed him with a long, worried look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said, the recollection slowly crawling back to his awareness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said again, shame seeping deep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush. I told you it was taxing. It’s completely normal to be emotionally raw after such an intensely vulnerable experience. Besides, your emotions are never too much. No prompts required. They are always welcome,” Aziraphale interjected before an apology could be placed. Crowley smiled gratefully, if not a bit wetly, much to his own chagrin. Aziraphale grinned, leaning to kiss the tip of his nose and tease, “Especially considering you allegedly ‘saw the Big Bang’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swear to fucking Satan I did!” Crowley blurted with a toothy grin, launching Aziraphale into soft laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After basking in cuddles and attention for a time, the need for coffee grew too great. Crowley peeled himself away, unsure of who out of the pair of them were more disappointed. The moment he rocked to his feet, his legs felt completely unreliable. A sharp ache made itself known in his arse, shooting up his lower back. He hadn’t taken a good look at the plug Aziraphale had used, but if he had to guess, it had been sizable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trudged to the kitchen, made his coffee, and put on the kettle to prepare Aziraphale’s tea. He took out a plate, figuring they’d earned dessert for breakfast after all the energy they’d exerted last night. Lastly, he snatched up his long-forgotten mobile from the sofa, arranging the whole lot in a precarious balance-act as he made his way back to the bedroom. He tried not to laugh too much at the light applause Aziraphale gave him for his coordination, setting the plate and drinks down on the side table and clambering back to his partner’s side with a cup of coffee and his phone in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How sweet, he thought when noting the time on the nightstand’s little clock, Aziraphale had nearly let him sleep until noon. There was a perk to an embarrassing meltdown. He turned with a smile, unlocking his mobile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was startled to find five missed calls from the hospital. Two missed calls from Adam. Three from Anathema. Two from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Winger. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’d been the only to leave a voicemail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus fucking Christ,” he cursed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something the matter?” Aziraphale asked, looking up from his book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whole bloody hospital’s gone and blown up my phone. At least Winger had the sense to leave a message. If this is something stupid I swear to Satan I’ll throttle them all,” he muttered, selecting the voicemail and lifting his phone to his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale rolled his eyes, apparently unconvinced at the menacing threat. He didn’t pay mind. Not until Crowley was staring, white faced, down at his phone. Horror written across his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aziraphale rocketed upright, taking Crowley’s wrist gently in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crowley,” he said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look. Couldn’t bring himself to do anything but clutch his phone and try to process the words he’d just heard. He couldn’t be bothered to remember how to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anthony,” Aziraphale said, a bit more command in his tone, “Tell me what’s happened.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At long last, Crowley’s petrified gaze flicked to Aziraphale’s face, the command from his beloved likely the only thing on earth that could propel him to function. He felt like he had to squeeze the air out of his lungs to make words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beatrix is in hospital,” he croaked, feeling the impending wave of panic looming overhead like a bloody tsunami. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No warning of its incoming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No time to evacuate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were attacked.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you couldn't tell, I'm incredibly soft for subspace Crowley oops. Baby's so into it he's experienced Nirvana 😂😂😂. I won't write all smut scenes like this in the future, but it might be what Crowley's POV looks like where bondage is involved. I really enjoyed the challenge! Just in case it was too hidden in subtext, Aziraphale didn't set a bad example and withhold his own boundaries and limits, they're something Crowley asked about 'off-screen' during his few weeks of nosing around for answers instead of just fessing up to his ignorance.</p><p>THANK you for your comments! They're so sweet and generous and they do my heart good &lt;3 I know I likely have y'all wilin' over the cliffhanger, but it will be resolved in the next update! In the meantime, I worked really hard on this chapter and I hope you like it as much as I do!! Please let me know if you liked the smut, it was an experimental take for me!</p><p>I could promise not to change the chapter count again, but I'm not gonna lie to you like that. </p><p>This week's rec is Petrichor &amp; Parchment by MrsNoggin, a fantastic completed fic in which Aziraphale is a book restorer who moves to the country and is greatly in need of a landscaper to patch up his wild yard. The gardener in question? You guessed it: one Anthony J. Crowley. One day I'll suggest some fics that take place in the canon universe. Today is not that day.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Physical violence, blood, strangulation, seizure, under the influence of medical pain-relievers</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sod it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sod work. Sod Mondays. Sod working on Mondays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sod surgery. Sod people. Sod Gabriel fucking Winger and his stupid smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sod Crowley and his pretentious ‘angel’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No that wasn’t fair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sod holidays then. Sod Power Play couples who developed an amazing connection and were lucky enough to keep it. Sod little romantic towns in France and the distance to them from London. Sod cheaters and liars and pity and bullshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounded like a lot, but that was just Bealz’ true nature- they were an extremist. They either saw the beauty in everything or- </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>rarely- found only the worst in anything. For nearly the last two months, it had been the latter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that they wouldn’t prefer to be the former. It made them a happier person- until they were duped. Until they were left looking and feeling like a complete and utter idiot, painfully aware of how undesirable they seemed to be. In the past, they’d overlooked it. But in the past, they’d known that playing pretend was the name of the game from the beginning of the relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winger had been- different, to say the least. He’d been repressed and vanilla when Beatrix first pinned him down for what he was. He’d opened up to them, bared something soft and vulnerable, let them toy with it. He’d been nervous, covered it with snark and attitude, but he’d trusted them. He had. Started to trail after them even, like a lost puppy. Gotten in the habit of scratching on their door on scary nights to be let in, make them disgusting food, curl around them, and watch horror movies that made him cling to them through nightmares while they peacefully dozed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Beatrix decided that it wasn’t their fucking fault. That he truly was a supreme wanker. Nothing he had said or done since the beginning of it implied they were pretending. Nothing suggested it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bealz </span>
  </em>
  <span>mindlessly pining after </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They had all the power in the relationship, they were sure of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that they’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>a relationship with Winger. Absolutely fucking not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just this entire business with Crowley, mooning over Dr. Fell. He’d never acted like such a love-struck fool before. He deserved it, of course he did, and Bealz had been quite chuffed with it until they’d found themself scorned after getting swept away in their own unique little romance- gross, no, not romance- ‘distraction’. Envy, they supposed. They wondered if it made them a terrible person. If they were allowed to be envious and happy for him all at once. It was too much to think about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Point was, they weren’t supposed to be the unstable one. They’d always been the rock. Always been the down-to-earth, logical, wise leader who saw everything for what it was. And they certainly weren’t the brooder. Even after their divorce, they’d gathered up their shit, hunted down Crowley, and focused on the logistics of picking up the pieces of both their lives- putting it all back together. Started on at his hospital. Stopped entertaining romantic relationships. Made a pact with their best friend to never settle for anyone who didn’t truly want them ever again. After all, if what they wanted was unconditional love and acceptance, they already found it in Crowley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They never looked back. They were a builder. A creator. A leader. Not a wallowing defeatist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t like to look at the whole situation too closely. Especially not their wounded pride. Stopped going to therapy just to avoid it. They didn’t need to see that. No one did. They didn’t even like the idea of someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sod all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So whatever the case of this sudden, strange insecurity and depression, they were well sick of it. They were still coming down from their intense roll on ecstasy and their one night stand with a woman who was, evidently, terrified of her husband. Perhaps that was a good end to their nearly two-month long bender. Worked just as well as a grand finale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was why they decided to stop running. They weren’t going to alter their entire existence over one human being. They weren’t going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>hide </span>
  </em>
  <span>from Dr. fucking Wanker. They weren’t going to let him win by changing their schedule to tiptoe around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beatrix Bealz did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>tip toe, nor did they run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They held their head up high and reclaimed their life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel nearly broke his neck whipping his head to look at them when they deliberately passed him Monday morning, having emerged from their two month slump in their fine fashionista form. Gucci leather platform pumps on their feet, a dark red jumpsuit beneath their white coat, and a spiked leather collar above a tiered chain necklace draped over their neck and chest. They’d even done their usual dark eye makeup, though it made them look a bit ghoulish with the dark shadows under their eyes and the redness of their sclera.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel stumbled after them, because of course he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beatrix, I didn’t know you’d-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They held up a hand, immediately invoking silence, and turned on their heel to fix him with a bone-chilling glare. If one squinted, they might see his spirit squeezing out through his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to stop you right there, Dr. Winger. Unless you have somethin’ to discuss in a professional capacity, I don’t believe it will be necessary for you to address me in the future. I’d highly suggest you stay the ‘ell out of my way or prepare to be trampled into the ground under my heel where you belong like the rubbish you are,” they snapped, trying to be unaffected by the clear hurt that streaked across his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It snapped back like a bloody rubber band, leaving something that smarted in their chest. They’d insulted him countless times and never gotten that reaction. They’d never threatened him, though. Not seriously. Never had to. He’d always known exactly what they were capable of. He’d known how dangerous they were. He’d begged for their time and attention anyway. Well. If he was so eager to fuck with a wildfire, he ought to have been prepared to get burned. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing he didn’t deserve. He’s not sorry. He’s sorry he got caught.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They repeated the thoughts like a mantra as they made their way to the lifts. Their mind was quick to commit it as truth, but as they slapped the button to close the doors and turned to face forward, they took in the sight of him standing in the middle of the hallway, his typically tan handsome face turned pale and miserable as he stared at the floor. He looked as if he was trying to fathom how to pick up the pieces that had just been slapped out of his hands and scattered at his feet. He looked devastated. Defeated. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good, </span>
  </em>
  <span>said their mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And you wonder why no one could ever love you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>said their heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Typically they weren’t an emotional person, all the more reason that resounding sentiment had them grumbling about and feeling like the worlds’ biggest tosser the whole morning. They had a surgery removing a kitchen knife from some poor sod’s back first thing. A moment was spared to check their phone after scrubbing out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No texts from Tony. Of course not. They couldn’t blame him. He’d tried to hold back for their sake on the one phone call they’d had, but they knew perfectly well he was having a perfect time in his perfect French romance novel with his perfect boyfriend. It was fair enough, he deserved a break from babysitting them. It would be a kind gesture to get their shit together before he came back, show him that they could survive a weekend on their own and wouldn’t make him drag them around behind him forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Downstairs called them in for a consultation with one of Gabriel’s patients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz finished their can of energy drink, crushed it in their fingers, and threw it in the bin before sliding into the bay’s privacy curtain. The patient was a man that couldn’t be much younger than Gabriel himself. He had dark skin that was covered in a thick sheen of sweat and was lying on his side, writhing. Bealz clutched up his chart, walking to the side of his bed where he could face them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see, Misterrrrr Arnaud. French?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Best mate’s in France right now. Sure he’s having a grand time compared to us sorry sods here,” they mumbled broodily, forgetting they were meant to stop doing that, “Hope he brings me back cheese. He ought to. What kind of prick wouldn’t bring their best mate back some French cheese?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Bealz said half-mindedly, staring out the overhead window for a brief moment to stare at the dull, dreary sky outside. They inhaled sharply, looking back down at the ailing man, “Your surgeon. Dr. Beatrix Bealz.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor…,” he hesitated at the title.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never fear. Finished my residency. Been at it over a decade. Head of Trauma Surgery. Just kept the title.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” he confirmed, a shiver racking through his body, “Does that mean I’m done with that other doctor? He’s… a bit of an arse, if you don’t mind me saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind ‘t’all. In fact, I’d say that’s quite an astute observation. Besides, you have the right to call anyone an arse today when you have to get a…,” they rifled through his charts, “an ileostoma. Fuck me. Rough go of things, eh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Evidently, that wasn’t a comforting sentiment for Mr. Arnaud. Bealz did their best to comfort him, informing him that it was certainly a better alternative than sepsis and would only be temporary while his perforation healed. They got through the brief. Poor bloke. He was suffering. Bealz could relate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’ll be about an hour yet before we squeeze you in. How about I get you something a bit stronger to tide you over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please! Oh bless you, you’re a saint!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothin’ even close,” Bea muttered as they turned and slipped through the curtain, surveying the ward in search of a nurse and more than irritated when they were pressed to find one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they went to find them at the nurse’s station. It likened a zoo with all the animals turned loose. Nothing like what they usually found. There were towering stacks of unfiled paperwork, phones ringing off the hook, nurse’s shouting at one another to finish tasks for them on this or that side of the bay. The sight of it alone might give Anthony a stroke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy!” Beatrix shouted, to no avail. It had about the effect of a pin drop in a busy shopping mall. They tried a different approach, rounding their way into the nurse’s station and standing directly in Anathema’s path, “Device. What the fuck are you all doing? Like a swarm of bloody ants running from pesticide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Anathema warned shortly, glaring from over her horn-rimmed glasses, “I don’t care that you’re my friend. I don’t care that you’re a surgeon. I cannot take anymore shit today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That tracks,” Bealz mused under their breath, taking another long look around at the chaos that surrounded them. As someone who gained too much joy from being a nuisance, they couldn’t help but tease, “And your cards didn’t predict it? What happened? Your spirit friends slackin’ off? Skivin’ for the day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walk and talk,” the nurse said shortly after a glare in Beatrix’s direction, shuffling by in her dark green scrubs to trek towards the pharmacy. Beatrix obliged. “It’s a fucking madhouse. Surprise inspection this morning. It should be illegal for them to come when Dr. Fell or Crowley aren’t here. We’re all backed up now. Adam is heading up emergency intakes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Adam.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well ‘s’not the end of the world, is it?” Bealz started, “who do I talk to about getting my patient more morphine while he wai-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck is Beatrix Bealz?” howled out a voice so loud, so imposing that the entire ward fell silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were only a few meters from the nurse’s station at the time of the interruption. Bealz turned to measure up the wanker who had the audacity to come into </span>
  <em>
    <span>their </span>
  </em>
  <span>workplace and try to start shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They found a massive, broad form of a man who looked as terrible as he smelled. He was pacing angrily back and forth, shaking and twitching in a way that heavily betrayed the influence of hard drugs. Bealz sneered. They weren’t going to be spoken to like an asshole just because this tweaking tosser was having a shit high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’d be me,” they said shortly, “Who the fuck is asking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something shifted in the air, suspended out in what felt like a lifetime to Beatrix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It likened the moment after something fragile and expensive was dropped but before it broke. A missed step in the dark. A spiraling out of a car before impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lacking in any proper response to the situation, Beatrix acted on instinct and shoved Anathema out of the way, barely registering her scream before they felt their body smack against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a switch was hit, the world went dark. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“HELP!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scream ricocheted down the hallway. Gabriel stepped out of his office. Watching people run away from the cry. Watching others run toward it. If he had a dollar every time there was some violence or drama in this ER- A&amp;E- whatever, he’d be much richer than he already was. Most of the time he would shut the door and trust security to handle it. But there wasn’t a gunshot to incite the madness. Instead, the screaming grew louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something pushed his feet, little by little, towards the source of the chaos. Some innate dread coiled in his stomach, rising like the sea level until it eroded at his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get off of them!”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“NEWT!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Get off ‘them’. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Them. Them! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beatrix!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel picked up the pace, sprinting until he saw some beastly, hulking excuse of a human pinning Bealz high against the wall with his hands screwed around their neck. The man was putting so much effort into suffocating them that his already massive muscles were bulking out, veins visible in his temples and biceps. Beatrix hung there helplessly like a rag doll, purple in the face and convulsing something violent, eyes rolling back in their head. A stress seizure had been triggered. A couple meters away, Anathema was curled over Newt, blood spread across his face, likely targeted himself after attempting to interfere. People panicked around the scene, screamed, ran to protect patients. Why the fuck were none of them stopping him? Who was getting security?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all instinct. The quick spring. The vault over the counter. The full body tackle of the massive intruder to the ground. For a moment they were a mound of muscles and flying fists and tight holds, but Gabriel didn’t do football and wrestling through the entirety of high school and college to be bested when it mattered most. He managed to shove the man onto his front and wrestle his arms behind him. Gabriel jerked his head up in a wild search, finding Beatrix only a matter of feet away, viciously spasming against the floor, the whites of their eyes showing as their lashes fluttered open and shut. The color didn’t flood out of their face. They were suffocating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the fuck is Shadwell?!” Dr. Winger screamed wildly, using all the power in his body to keep the man pinned down. His own face was red with effort, temples straining with the force, his expensive hairstyle in a disarray. Beatrix was there. Right there. He could help them, if he could just get over there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Ere I am, laddy! I shannae stand some grrrreat vile brute in my hospital!” Shadwell howled as he ran to Gabriel, two policemen at his side, and cuffed the man before the three of them combined dragged him a safe distance from the scene with no small amount of effort and struggle </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel was with Beatrix in a blink, peeling off his torn white coat, bundling it up, and carefully arranging it under the black head of hair as he turned Bealz’ onto their side. He held them there gently, careful not to restrain their motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The poor dear’s blue!” Tracy fussed from nearby as Anathema rushed Newt to a bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Gabriel choked, tearing his gaze away from Bealz as he crouched beside them on the cold, hard hospital floor, “We can’t intubate until they stop seizing. Bring me benzodiazepine, now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anathema rushed back, covering Beatrix with a blanket. “They’re convulsing too hard for IV’s.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then bring me an injection. Did I stutter? Now!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t ask twice, rushing off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tracy! Get me a gurney and prepare for an endoscopy in the nearest bay!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already on it, dearie,” she called over her shoulder as she rushed to the nearest unoccupied bay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked around, and only now, when there was nothing else that could be done, did the situation come crashing down with bruising force and land squarely on his shoulders. He blinked back tears, licked his split, bleeding lip, looked down at Bealz’ purple face, and uselessly wove his fingers into their hair, brushed their straining temple with his thumb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strived to keep his voice calm. Even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Beatrix. It’s me- it’s Gabriel. I know you’re pissed at me-,” he stopped just short of a break in his voice, swallowing hard, his vision growing blurry, “but I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re going to be okay. I promise, Bea. I promise.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world spiraled. Before Beatrix even opened their eyes, they were disoriented. They would have kept their lids shut to avoid any further displeasure, but suddenly they became aware that there was something lodged in their mouth, blocking their airway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They started awake in a panic, hands clutching at the mask secured around their face. They heard their heart rate pick up on the monitor. Felt it beat wildly in their ears. They tried to turn their head and couldn’t. They were trapped.  They couldn’t move their neck. They looked around the best they could, fixed in position, and couldn’t come close to recognizing their surroundings. They couldn’t calm down. Couldn’t grasp the situation. Their head was trapped in a hazy medical drug-fueled state. A hand raised quickly to scratch at their neck, finding it encased in a brace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Gabriel was leaning over them, the hospital lights above him raining down like a halo, making him look like an angel. Wasn’t that an angel’s name? Gabriel?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gee, this morphine had shown up to do its work, huh?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked tired. More tired than they’d ever seen him. His hair was wrecked. His purple eyes were outlined with red. There were stitches in his lower lip and bruises flowering over his face. The contrast was hard and bizarre. They’d never seen him look unkempt before. Not after sex. Not after sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter. They didn’t care. As much as it would pain- probably literally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically </span>
  </em>
  <span>pain- Bealz to admit, they were calmed by seeing him. The stupid monitor beside them betrayed the fact as the beeping steadily slowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re going to be okay. I promise, Bea.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a fever dream then. Not some epilepsy-induced hallucination. He had saved their life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That thought was a bit too big to chew on, and so they pushed it somewhere in the back part of their brain to process subconsciously as a dozen questions they were physically incapable of voicing swirled to the forefront. Gabriel somehow managed to read their mind and took a whack at answering them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright. You have an ET in. You’re in stable condition. You’re at St. Mary’s, Crowley told us to bring you here so you could be close to your neurologist. I’m not sure how much you remember. Some guy- George Lancaster was his name- attacked you. Claimed you slept with his wife. Of course he was arrested. He nearly broke your trachea and larynx, but didn’t succeed, thank God. They’re both bruised pretty severely. It’ll be a few days before the swelling goes down enough for you to eat and breathe on your own, you’ll have to wear the cervical collar until then. You had a seizure, too.  The MRI and CT were both done while you were under. You were awake for the neuro exam, but you didn’t seem to be all there. Everything checked out, anyway. Sure he’ll brief you in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz didn’t remember seeing their neurologist, but they most certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember the tomato-faced son of a bitch that had jumped them. They’d never met him before he’d come raging into the A&amp;E</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly they recalled their disappearing act of being shoved onto a fire escape, naked, with their clothes thrown after them. The terror on the woman’s face as she looked over her shoulder and threw the curtains shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. Yes. They had indeed slept with his wife. Fair was fair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They felt like a bloody mutant. Tubes shoved in their face like some kind of off-brand Frankenstein’s monster. A catheter creeping in their nether regions, much to their dismay, collecting their unseemly fluids somewhere out of sight. Stuck, immobile, to the bed. As much as they loved horror, they weren’t a fan of being the subject of it. At least Winger had the sense to keep pity out of his face. In fact, he looked steadier than usual. Solid. Rooted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awh, fuck. He was going to take advantage of this state, wasn’t he? Pour out his bullshit where they weren’t able to escape from it. The soft, drugged assessment they were giving him must have turned sharp and suspicious, because he let out a low sigh, ran his hand through ruined hair, and moved to the very corner of their vision. They heard him rustling around in his vegan-leather bag. A moment later they felt a smooth, flat plastic be pushed into their left hand- their switch system, they recognized quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was… nice. They supposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chair was brought to their side, near their legs where they could see him clearly if they lowered their eyes. Gabriel settled down uneasily into it and leaned forward, set something near their right hand, lifted his mobile, and tapped a bit on its surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The object he’d given them- their mobile, apparently- buzzed, slightly vibrating the mattress around it. He gave them a hopeful, doe-eyed smile, reaching forward to pleadingly nudge the device closer to their hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz paused. Ultimately, they figured that if it was because of him that their neck wasn’t snapped, their trachea crushed, their skull smashed to splinters, then perhaps they might grant him the slightest mercy. Not because they were soft. Not because they’d considered forgiving him. They took their beetle-winged phone in their fingertips, lifting it in into their line of sight. In the black reflection of their sleeping screen, they nearly caught a clear glimpse of their reflection. Yikes. They looked worse than they felt, and that was saying something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They tapped the thing to life and flicked to their messages. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>
      <em>Text from WANKER! DON’T ANSWER! February 15 9:54 PM</em>
    </b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Next up on our crackhead public-telly hospital drama, a nurse gets pregnant- the father is a cancer survivor that passed just last week after tragically choking on a pickle. The pharmacist is replaced by his evil twin brother no one knew about, spurring a series of unexplainable medication-induced deaths. The state decides to cut funding for the A&amp;E, and autopsies now take place in the alleyway between the had-been hospital mortuary and the Nandos across the way. Is there an unseemly connection there? Find out next week. Thrilling stuff. Stay tuned. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gabriel took a moment to breathe an airy laugh, scrubbing his hand over his face. He settled in a bit more, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So those meds are treating you pretty well, huh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Oh yeah. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>You called Crowley, then? Shouldn’t have. He was going to be here tomorrow anyway N now Fell needs to deal with him stroking out for hours on end. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s your emergency contact, we had to call him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Spose. When will he be here? </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Had trouble finding a way back on such short notice. It’ll be a couple hours yet. Been blowing up my phone every 30 minutes asking for an update. Incorrigible. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Oh yeah, he’s an obnoxious one alright. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Not that you’re allowed to say that.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>So let me guess. You save my life N now demand a ‘proper talk’ in repayment?</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They noticed the dubious look the physician fixed them with from over their mobiles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I would think trying to twist your arm into talking would be literally the quickest way to ensure I’m shunned for a lifetime. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Astute. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Dunno why you act such a bloody dumbarse when you’re clearly capable of something resembling intelligence.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A pause passed between them as Bealz measured him up. The room started spinning, a wave of numbness washing over them. They closed their eyes for a time, considering things. What was his angle, anyway?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why would he be here as if he owed them anything, nearly ten long hours after the incident? Why would he tackle a psychopath to begin with? He didn’t care. That was his staple. His whole schtick. He didn’t invest. He didn’t get involved. Listened to Daddy and kept his record and his appearance nice and clean. Yet here he’d gotten his pretty face all busted just to come to their rescue. Perhaps they misunderstood the situation after all.  Ugh. They did hate being wrong. Hated it more than tubes shoved down their prick and throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they opened their eyes at last, Gabriel’s eyes were downcast. He looked terribly gloomy. Disappointed, even. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d hurt his feelings. Touched a sore spot. The feeling was foreign. It made Bealz feel sickly and gross. They didn’t like it. They didn’t like anything today. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Fine. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gabriel started when his phone went off, his violet eyes fixing on the single word. His brows furrowed, as if he was trying to decipher something as complicated as hieroglyphics instead of a single English word. Bealz was quite certain the word ‘fine’ meant the same fucking thing in America.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a moment to shift his gaze to their face, as if the answer would lie there. They doubted he could find a single bloody thing around the monstrosity of equipment strapped to their face. Ugh. They were not into this whole ‘incapacitated’ business. Perhaps they would write their favorite designers and suggest they look into manufacturing couture cervical collars. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Fine’ what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Fine. Explain.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can I at the very least explain out loud? The whole ‘vulnerability’ thing is difficult as it is without there being recorded evidence. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Really? C’mon. We both know you’re a little bitch boy. Don’t be shy now.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, that was a little better. They did always like that color of pink on his face. A great fitness fanatic, modeling himself after ancient Grecian perfection, and yet here he was, reduced to a bashful, flustered mess. They almost considered asking if he was just scared of them comparing notes with other parties and calling him on his bluff. But one look at his pleading face and they didn’t have the heart. No himbo was that capable of being some sort of secret mastermind. Perhaps their soft spots were being pressed a bit too much, because they felt themself cave. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Alright. Go on then. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wave of relief visibly washed over Gabriel. He set his phone down, scooting slightly closer to Bealz. He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his knees, his foot tapping away anxiously. He opened and closed his mouth a few times. Then, not long after, he leaned back. Strong hands pushed through his hair, and reddened eyes looked to the sky as if maybe his boy J.H.C was going to throw him a bone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, violet eyes met blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… don’t usually invest in other people. Just a habit that was- well, I guess you could say it was groomed into me. Keep your head forward. Keep moving. No distractions. As soon as someone gets in the way, they’re out. That was always my normal,” he started, sounding exactly like the asshole Bealz had always thought he was before they had ‘gotten closer’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t do ‘normal’, I know that. Spending time with you- that did something to me. Made me discontent with it all somehow, after thirty-eight years of getting accustomed to it. Made me rethink what ‘normal’ even is. What it should be. Made me question what I wanted, really, for the first time- not just what someone was trying to pound into my head that I wanted.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel paused, inhaling deeply. Now his fingers were tapping on the arm of his chair in tandem with the toe of his fine handcrafted Italian shoe on the floor. Satan. He was nearly as anxious as Crowley. Not that anyone was capable of reaching </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what I wanted-,” he trailed off, clearly getting frustrated at the vulnerability and glaring at Bealz unhappily as if it was somehow their fault. Then again, apparently, it was. “Well. I think you know, and I know you were just humoring me. Letting me pretend I’d ever be interesting enough for someone like you to give a shit about. We were playing by your rules. That was fine. I never meant to break them, to shatter it all into reality. That woman had been out of my life for a while. Couldn’t pick up a hint. Decided we were on a ‘break’ and was convinced I’d come around. I guess, in this instance, she was just a- a means to an end. And it did have to end sometime. I realize that now, in retrospect. I could never have your genuine interest. You could never really be invested in me. Logically, it follows. I know it, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chewed his cheek, his pride visibly wounded, and wrinkled his nose to spit out the last of his words, clearly the most uncomfortable to convey, “but I think I would have been content living out that fantasy as long as you were willing to entertain it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wave of nausea roared to life through Beatrix. They closed their eyes, letting the oxygen be forced into their lungs. It was uncomfortable. Unnatural. But it was better than facing the emotions taking over their mind like a wildfire, destructive and suffocating, smog blocking out all the sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, they might have been pleased that Gabriel saw himself as their plaything. That they had so much control over him, he was tiptoeing around glass to avoid breaking their unspoken rules. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And at some point, they might have delighted in the fact that their months-long rage was in response to him ‘breaking the rules’, cracking the spell. However, they knew damn well why they were upset. They thought he was different. They thought he actually wanted them. And he was. And he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flood of their old relationships flurried through their head. Partnerships and a marriage that were rotten and unfaithful at their core. Situations where Bealz trailed along, ignoring the deep painful wrongs they suffered, seeing only the beauty in the ugliness- because that’s what they did. Who they were at their core, even with the worst people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel had thought they were one of those people. That they were stringing him along, winding him up like a toy. And perhaps they were, at first. Perhaps they were one of those terrible human beings. But that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>before. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they learned the bliss of sleep after a lifetime of insomnia, but only when wrapped up in his strong arms, listening to his steady breath. Before they saw farmers markets and, instead of running the opposite way, browsed the goods for something Gabriel would most certainly like. Before they discovered the great sap was amenable to playful drunken wrestling on the sitting room rug (and before he’d let them win, every time). Before horror movies became boring without his hilarious expressions of disgust to watch and his ungraceful shouts of surprise. Before they started looking forward to work more for the opportunity to bicker than they did for the thrill of cutting living beings open and exploring their innards. Before they started organizing their collection in a manner that they might get the funniest reactions out of him the next time he came to theirs. Before there was a passenger behind them on their motorcycle, clinging to them for comfort and security, strong arms folded around their thin waist. Before they forgot what it was to be lonely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth was, their life was much better with him in it. All this mess. All the mourning. And it really only boiled down to a single fact:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wanted him, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All his smug, pretentious, elitist bullshit. His obsession with vanity and clout. His grandiose insistence that he knew best. The way that smug smile turned cold and empty whenever they pissed him off. The annoyance that crossed his face at the knowledge that they would win every argument every time or die trying. His unyielding, obnoxious competitiveness. The sounds he made and that dazed look in his eye when they dominated him. The snide bickering they exchanged as if they’d known each other for 20 years. The deep love of musicals and singing and theater he thought he’d hidden so well from them. The search for ‘more’ and the fact that they could give it to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wanted every bit of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And all that stood in the way was their pride. More than an intimidating hurdle, considering it was something quite massive and immovable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bollocks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their eyes shut closed while they bided their time. The deep, instinctive, protective part of them that fastidiously guarded their soft spots told them to respond with snide. To tease him. To call him pathetic. To put his feelings down. To tell him wasn’t that a bit self-conscious a sentiment for the righteous Dr. Winger all the way up on the tippy-top of his mountain to acknowledge? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the root of it, neither of them had any great capacity for emotional intelligence. Even less for vulnerable truths. He’d shown them his. It was only fair to show him theirs. Bealz could be cold and cynical and harsh, but they’d never been known for unfairness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The task was a bit more difficult than they anticipated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I wasn’t. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Humoring you, I mean. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They gazed at the sent messages for some time. When they looked up at Gabriel, he was staring at them as if they were the most complex algorithm the world had ever known. His brows were furrowed, his eyes tired. Beatrix sighed through their nose. The saliva was building uncomfortably in their mouth from the swelling shut of their throat. It was starting to ache something terrible. Light blue eyes trailed to the IV bag overhead, empty. They would need more pain medication soon, but the longer they let this conversation hang overhead, the more uncomfortable both of them would be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>If you’re waiting for some grand romantic speech, that’s not really my deal. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>That said, I was invested. Why else would I get that bloody pissed when the whole thing crashed. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gabe was quick to unlock his mobile, fixing the words with focused concentration. His eyes scanned the words over and over again, as if he was waiting for them to change. Naturally, they did not. He looked to them and opened his mouth to speak. With no shortage of irritation, Beatrix raised their mobile, tapping it impatiently. If they had to record their end of this painstakingly exposing conversation, he ought to do the same. With a tired laugh of defeat, he turned back to his mobile. He typed something out. Erased it. Typed again. Erased it. The cycle went on for a few minutes before he seemed to settle on something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Would you consider investing again? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While this was easier, talking about love like stocks, Beatrix still hesitated. It was their turn to stare blearily at the light of their screen. Each word weighed more than they felt confident to carry. Upper body strength was never their forte. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth was glaring them in the face. They had never been wanted before like this. If they were, they had never wanted the person back. It shouldn’t be this difficult. It should be simple. The pieces should fit. The needs matched. Like magnets, they should snap together. Yet it felt like the most daunting proposition they’d ever been offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz felt afraid. They weren’t sure of what. Of fucking up, perhaps. Of ruining something they’d never thought they could have to begin with. It was an entirely foreign phenomenon, and they decided quite quickly that they didn’t like it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, they had too much stubbornness and pride to succumb to something as trivial as mind-numbing terror. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I can be a proper tosser. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d say we’re pretty evenly matched. We could- what do you call it? “Take the piss out of” each other. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something of a laugh tried to escape Bealz throat, but the vibrations incited so much pain, bursting out from their bruised and swollen larynx that they nearly passed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel frowned, raising to his feet, “Let’s page the nurse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was promptly swatted away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Excuse you. We’re in the middle of a bloody conversation. We’ll page them in a minute. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The frown deepened. What a pouty little bitch. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fine. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Right. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I was married.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How long ago?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Bout a decade.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you still?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Not unless an evening out reeeeeally got away from me. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then I don’t see the problem. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Haven’t ever tried something like this. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me either. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I’m not going to let your friends misgender me. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Neither will I. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>If any of your snooty beverly hills mates give me any elitist rubbish, they’ll get it five times worse than they give. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d expect nothing less. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I’m a lot when I’m pissed. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t I know it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I don’t stand for passive-aggressive bullshit. If you’re tetchy, be outright about it. No quiet brooding over bruised egos N hurt feelings. I’d much rather have it out right away. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t pretend that won’t take some unlearning, but I’ll do my best. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Right. Good. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>No pity. No bullshit.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wouldn’t entertain the thought.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Ta.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I don’t believe in apologizing. That is- giving apologies, rather. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And I’m guessing that’s as close to an apology as I’m going to get?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Hmmm. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I do… regret not talking to you sooner. I’m not easily bristled. Don’t like feeling bad stuff. Needed time to lick my wounds N tend to my pride. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, at least you regretted it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Let’s not be greedy now, Winger. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Where was I?</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A list of demands, from what I gather. Feels like a hostage negotiation, a little bit. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Sort of is, innit? Stick em up!</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>You’re going to have to go to oddities events N horror films N ghost tours N all that stuff with me.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I will be sure to put up one hell of a fight. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>No complaining </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t even pretend to agree to that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As if they’d forgotten the lesson they’d just learned, they tried to laugh again, and this time the world did go dark for a time, pain buzzing down every vertebrae of their spine, the muscles from their throat down to their pectorals spasming, agony pinching at the raw nerves of their swollen neck. When they came to, an unfamiliar nurse was fussing at the IV, clearly irritated as Gabriel oversaw the care, nitpicking about dosage and schedules with more investment than Beatrix had ever seen him give any patient. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Dr. Winger,” the nurse repeated like a mantra, doing an impressive job of keeping the urge to strangle from betraying itself in her voice. When she was done, Gabriel grabbed his chair, taking the liberty of scooting it closer. Bealz didn’t protest, finding they were a bit relieved for it actually, in their vulnerable state. He’d tackled one asshole for them already, after all. They had every logical reason to feel safer with him near them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(That’s all it was, they convinced themself, logic- despite knowing deep down it was rooted in a much more heartfelt sentiment.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drugs hit their system hard and fast. They felt dizzy. Dazed. Heavy. Everything was okay. The world took on a lovelier, happier tint. It felt as if birds were singing. This is what princesses in children’s animated films felt like, they bet. No wonder Cinderella was so chill with her shite life; she was tripping balls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz fumbled for their mobile beside their hip. It felt heavy. Unreasonably difficult to navigate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Hand me the doofer?</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Clickety click </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a long stint of staring at his mobile in confusion yet again, he delivered a blank look in their direction. Gosh, he was something pretty, wasn’t he? Even with a split lip and a bruised, swollen cheekbone. Looked straight out of a mid-century boxing film. His tie was unknotted and draped over his broad shoulders and the top couple buttons of his shirt undone, showing a hint of the muscled expanse beneath it. Beatrix was so overcome with the desire to slide their hands into the opening, to suck a bruise on that defined neck and pull out a groan, that they nearly forgot their question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both his eyebrows raised at them now. Their gaze slid off, admiring how pretty the shade of blue on the walls was. Blue like the sky on a breezy summer day. Lovely, that. So sunny and warm. That was nice. They should really get more blue clothing. They didn’t have any. Crowley would look darling in blue. They should get him blue clothing too. A nice blue scarf to make his pretty golden eyes pop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is a doofer?” Gabriel asked at last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a random question. How was that relevant? Beatrix felt their mobile in their hand, but it was far too complex to be useful, so they let it drop from their fingers and pointed an index at the telly. Woah. Their arm felt so heavy- but light at the same time. Were they flying? It felt like it. They felt something in their hand, and looked down to find a remote had appeared there. A long stare was delivered at the thing, and their fingers brushed over the rubber buttons. Bealz mind practically vibrated at the stimulation of the texture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gabriel snickered for some reason, and took it from them, pointing it at the TV and making it light up with life and noise. Colors painted across it. Beatrix looked at them all individually. Vaguely understood the shapes they formed, but not really. It might have been more clear if they bothered to put in the effort, though naturally they didn’t. It was fascinating. Vaguely, they felt something warm nudge up against their hand. They looked down to find Gabe’s beside their’s. Mindlessly, they wound their fingers together, an electric shock of pleasure shooting up their arm at the deeply needed comfort of the simple touch. They’d been starved for it, somehow. After months without the affections, they felt satiated. Gabriel looked so happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he could be quite sweet, really, couldn’t he? In his own way. Not that they would ever share that with anyone. No; they wanted him all to themself. Their Gabey. Gabey wabey. Gabey-baby. Oh yeah- that was a good one. They’d have to call him by that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d hate it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delightful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were spinning with the room now, contentment and euphoria tossing them round and round like clothes in the wash.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world went dark and cozy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * * * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some deep, protective instinct jerked Beatrix into fighting for awareness past the hazy comfort of drugs. Crowley was crying. So close. He needed them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They blinked themself awake, coming back to the world. The room was dim, the overhead lights shut off. Two figures stood outside the doorway, chatting. Dr. Fell and Winger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevermind them. A telltale tuft of red hair was jutting up just into their vision near their waist. They raised a hand, sinking their fingers into the smooth locks, unhindered by product. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crowley jerked upright, looking so bloody barking mad that Beatrix had to stop themself from laughing again. It was pitiful, really. Tugged at their heartstrings a bit. His hair was wild and unkempt, as if he’d showered and gotten straight into bed before it dried, never attempting to style it after. His face was teartracked, eyes puffy and red, nose tinted pink. The clothes he was wearing made no sense and his shirt was inside out, as if he’d been dressed by a blind, inebriated toddler. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked so desperately, desperately sad when his unhindered amber eyes met their blue pair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trixie,” he sobbed, “Trix I’m so sorry. I should have been here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sense of urgency had a sobering effect against the drugs, and Bea searched for their mobile, finding it somewhere near their hip and snatching it up. They allowed the sharp presence of sense to cut into the edges of their hazy mental state. Their free hand remained cupped tenderly around Crowley’s ear. Their arm was strained and tired from being held there already, but sod all, they weren’t about to move it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Text to The Masked Plant Bandit February 16 1:39 AM</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>What would have been different? I still would have gone out, rolled ecstasy, fucked someone I shouldn’t have. That fucking hulk of a fucker woulda come in and attacked me. You would have ended up just like Newt, with a bloody mess of a mug.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>It would have been so much worse. I’d much rather you be prancing around Colmar with your lover boy.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley fumbled for his phone, his slender hand keeping Bealz’ firmly where it was. It slowly dropped as he read the message and cried harder, crumpled in on himself, poured out all the contents of Bealz’ recently filled heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like I’ve failed you. This whole situation. I should have been able to pull you out of it. I was so useless-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz delivered a tired slap to his cheek in disapproval, effectively turning his sobs into weak, watery laughter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>You’re not responsible for my feelings, luv. Just like I’m not responsible for your episodes. Besides. That’s all behind us now, at the very least. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That brought pause from the tears. He sniffled, fixing them with curious golden eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two have worked it out then?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>He’s here, isn he? </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He gave a pitiful, sniffling laugh. “Look at you. Aren’t you the perfect couple? Two medical degrees and the emotional intelligence of one brain-damaged llama between you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bealz was careful to simply exhale through their nose in place of laughter, slapping Crowley’s face again. A pathetic excuse for a grin played at his lips as he bowed his head and scrubbed at his eyes. At the very least, it was genuine, and they counted their blessings for that. His relationship with Fell had so clearly improved his distress tolerance. Something miraculous in measure, really. It was like after forty-two years he was finally capable of listening, even in the throes of emotion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Right. Worst is passed. Stop crying. You’re mussing up your pretty face. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At their limit, their arm dropped down to the bed, where Crowley knotted their fingers together. Crowley seemed perplexed. The tears didn’t stop, but one by one, his features hardened, wrinkled, landing his face somewhere in a snarl. The shaking was for an entirely different reason now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to kill that bastard,” he choked out, throat constricting around the words, his breathing growing more labored, “Now that I know you’re going to be okay, I’m going to spend every minute of my time looking up the most creative methods for murder and expanding on them. Put my own twist on it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beatrix had to keep from rolling their eyes. He’d been in fights, sure- well, been the </span>
  <em>
    <span>victim </span>
  </em>
  <span>of fights. They couldn’t imagine Crowley causing physical harm to anyone- any</span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> even if they tried their absolute hardest to form the mental picture. He was soft, with a soft heart. He had to feel things and feel them </span>
  <em>
    <span>deeply </span>
  </em>
  <span>if he had any chance of ever letting go. That’s all this was. When he was so helpless, feeling was all he could do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Well, you have some time to figure it out. He’s three charges of aggravated assault against an emergency healthcare worker with me, Winger, N Newt combined. He’ll be locked up for a good minute. </em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>For now, let yourself relax, you big baby. That’s quite enough. Your daddy’s gonna come and fuss over you if you don’t stop N I’m sure he’s exhausted after being at it all day.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Crowley didn’t bother trying to ‘correct’ them this time, they noted. Good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sheepish smile in their direction, it appeared he was too tired to put up a fight. Slowly, he closed his eyes, transitioned into his breathing exercises. It took several minutes and many more tissues to top off his crying, but at long last, he managed it and slid down in his chair into his token sprawl. He looked more exhausted than Beatrix had ever seen him- well, that wasn’t quite true, but it easily made the top five. With a glance over his shoulder to ensure Aziraphale was still at the doorway, he let go of the last bit of tension, looking at them with fatigue written clearly across his features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally, he slid right into his fussy nursing self. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You must hate this, eh? Don’t worry, I’ll take grand care of you. Be your housekeeping bitch, if you’d like. Anything you need, you get.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Already got a bitch~ won’t say no to some coddlin when he’s not around though. A break from the nasty grass smoothies I’m sure he’ll pour down my throat. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course. All the fatty chocolate milkshakes your heart desires. I’ll even mix bacon in if you’d like, though I can’t promise I won’t wretch while doin’ it,” Crowley noted through a breathy laugh, “S’pose you do have a bitch now, don’t you? And the two of you got on right after Valentine’s, too. So practical. Now I know what you were waiting for. The aversion of a holiday on which you’re required to express fondness in a direct manner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They rolled their eyes in response. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Yep. Spose as far as Valentine’s goes, yours was better. Tell me all about it? Can’t even talk back. I’m a perfect victim. Have to sit here N listen. The drugs will keep me from feeling nauseous at the overwhelming sappiness of it all.</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A slow, wicked grin spread across Crowley’s face, and he threw a quick look over his shoulder to ensure Aziraphale was distracted. Ah. So his ‘reward’ had gone well. Good, he deserved a bit of relaxation and pampering. Beatrix might have returned the smirk, if they could. He crawled onto the edge of their bed and crowded in close, the scent of him washing over Bealz in a wave of incredible comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do I even begin,” he sighed dreamily, and Bealz had the hunch he was about to plague them with sitting through all the schmoopy bits before he got to the good part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah well. If this wasn’t a day for embarrassing, sappy confessions of romantic bliss, they weren’t sure what was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*holds hands up in innocence* it is a hospital drama! You know your datemate is one stubborn son of a bitch when it takes them being literally incapacitated to hear you out.</p><p>Let me just say, writing a heart-to-heart between these two emotionally constipated losers was one of the hardest things I've ever written. So hard to keep it in character 😂 That said, boy howdy, I love them. </p><p>I nearly didn't write the bit with Crowley, but I know a lot of you were worried about him! Perhaps before his relationship with Az, he might have pledged to never leave them again, but Aziraphale really is helping him with his distress tolerance 💜</p><p>The next fic up is Everything But The Kitchen Sink by KiaraMGrey! It's a (nearly completed) WIP in which Aziraphale buys a new house in Tadfeild and Crowley is the village handyman. I know I've rec'ed one of their fics before, but what can I say! I'm in love with their writing!<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26042314/chapters/63330034</p><p>Please be sure to check out yet another AMAZING piece of Stitch Me Up art done by FreedomAttack and commissioned by Beckers522:<br/>https://twitter.com/Free00746552/status/1299400890214948869?s=20<br/>https://getwrexed.tumblr.com/post/627737632507658240</p><p>And read Beckers522's wonderful fics while you're at it ^^ ~ https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckers522/pseuds/Beckers522/works</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: Depressive episode, indirect self harm (binge drinking, food avoidance)</p><p>Check out this AMAZING ART of Bea and Gabe from Chapter 10, done by CynSyn! They're such an absolutely talented artist!<br/>https://getwrexed.tumblr.com/post/628800697083772928<br/>https://twitter.com/amadness2method/status/1303722673122541573?s=20</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Six months. Six months of open communication, sweet obedience (with the occasional hellish streak of defiance), historical dramas, and Crowley’s delicious home-cooking. Hours of reading books aloud, sharing a warm bed through cold winter months, and taming an expertly sass mouth.  Sexual exploration, a trust that had grown impossibly strong, and the stitching of two hearts so close they felt ripped apart when not together.</p><p>The most precious connection Aziraphale had ever known.</p><p>It was intimate. It was real. A live-wire that sent a shock through him unlike any other. </p><p>In his lifetime, every relationship had its ups and downs. His and Crowley’s relationship experienced this in a much different way. Perhaps his lover would occasionally act out, grow frustrated and act impulsively instead of using his words, but Aziraphale knew better than to blame it on some sort of malicious intent. It was, in essence, a cry for attention. Of course he would punish Crowley accordingly, but each little occasional was a lesson for himself, too. It was an indicator of some way he’d failed his darling. A place he had neglected needs he’d promised to tend to per their arrangement.</p><p>But there was nothing similar to the outburst back in January. No, Crowley was far too eager to please him. Absolutely enamored with the attention and praise he would get in turn. It had become so natural, not the slightest bit forced. They made each other happy, the effort they would put forth to do so as second-nature as brushing their teeth. </p><p>So the ups and downs Aziraphale looked for were much different than the easy give and take of their well-established relationship. Instead, he looked for those fluctuations in Crowley’s mood. It wasn’t that he was afraid. It was simply the anticipation of someone preparing to face a task they had not yet and hoped to for the rest of their life. </p><p>He loved Crowley. He wanted to see if they could practically make each other happy for a lifetime. He yearned to learn the signs of his episodes and how to make them as painless as possible. It was a bit of a dance, feeling prepared but not asking so many questions that Crowley felt like a chore or some sort of absurd specimen to be studied and handled and fixed- because he wasn’t. He was a person, and he was whole. </p><p>Thus, the information he had gathered from multiple sources was rather concise. Crowley’s bipolar was categorized as ‘rapid cycling’, establishing that he had at least four episodes a year that could be surprisingly short or stretch on for a time. His depressed episodes lasted longer on average than his hypomanic episodes. He was absolutely non-violent towards others, and the self-harm he engaged in (and he <em> would </em> engage, if Beatrix was to be believed) was indirect. Aziraphale had read an impossible amount of resources on it: medical journals, blogs, forums, and websites, but the most important takeaway he had was that undeniably, every single time, Crowley would suddenly clam up, pull away, skip therapy, stop his mental health upkeep routines, abandon his coping mechanisms, and hold his cards as close to the vest as possible. </p><p>He anticipated it. He was sure he could handle it. Sure he could be a supportive partner. </p><p>As most disorders have a tendency to be, the whole ordeal was a bit more complex in reality than in theory. </p><p>It crept on slowly, at first, the stark change in behavior that struck early April. Crowley’s typically mischievous, spontaneous personality had been rendered lazy and tired. He still came over often enough, at first. Instead of bags full of fresh ingredients brought alongside excited intentions of innovative, home-made meals, the bags would be filled with take-out that he mostly poked at instead. Crowley was suddenly content with staying in all night every night, a stark difference from his mischievous, restless spirit. He’d always enjoyed being read to, but typically late into the night, after he’d grown tired. Suddenly, he asked to be read to for hours on end starting early in the day, resting his head on a thick thigh and staring off into space. The frequency of his cheeky interruptions had suffered a steep decline. </p><p>Most peculiarly of all, it seemed as if his libido had vanished into thin air. His angel, on the other hand, had gotten used to needy, unabashed hands groping and grabbing at his clothing demandingly upon nearly every meeting. He’d managed to keep himself in control for the most part- he was a gentleman, after all. The one instance Crowley had caught on to his arousal was in the middle of a shared shower. He’d bossily insisted on getting his lover off, only to break down in tears in the middle of delivering a handjob. Naturally, that played its part in killing any interest Aziraphale might have had and keeping the damn thing tamped down until Crowley was feeling better. </p><p>Aziraphale had asked after it, of course he had. They had an arrangement, after all. The answer he got in turn was a weak excuse that Crowley’s friend group had suddenly been wrought with drama. Faust had tried to pull his new girlfriend into the group to participate in all their activities, much to the chagrin of the others. As the group peace-maker, Crowley had been bothered with it from all directions. Similarly, new changes had been made in the A&amp;E. The NHS had instituted internal changes- new standards and manufacturers, and while Crowley handled them seamlessly at work, he confided with his lover that he was struggling with it all on a personal level. Of course he wouldn’t want to show it in front of his nursing staff. To be said simply- he was tired. Everything felt a bit much. </p><p>“You’ll adjust,” Aziraphale had encouraged while holding Crowley in his arms, carding his fingers through his hair, “You’re strong, my darling. It’ll all fall in line and you’ll be back at it in no time.” </p><p>“I’m sorry I haven’t been myself,” Crowley had sheepishly admitted in turn, face hidden in Aziraphale’s neck, rendering his expression unreadable. </p><p>“You’re always yourself, darling. Whatever speed or rhythm that takes, I love you and I want you.”</p><p>That had received a far more hysterical meltdown than Aziraphale had expected. The next morning, Crowley seemed ship-shape and bristol fashion, serving up a delicious breakfast and explaining that he’d be busy the next few days but promising to come back late in the week for Sabbath. Aziraphale’s best friend since they’d met in synagogue during Secondary School, Raphael, was coming, and Crowley had promised to meet him- of course, he’d only come around to being friendly <em> after </em>he’d gotten over the fact that Aziraphale had two separate long-term relationships with said best friend (one after university and during the beginning of medical school, the other just after he returned to Brighton in his mid-thirties). Such a jealous little thing. Honestly.</p><p>Raphael was in town for a psychology conference, and, as the most important friend from Aziraphale’s life in Brighton, he couldn’t have been more elated for him to meet Crowley. He knew they’d get on. He was positive. Raphael would laugh at Crowley’s wit, engage with his cleverness, completely approve of his head-over-heels adoration, supportiveness, and tenderness with Aziraphale. No way it could go pear-shaped. </p><p>He’d arrived from Brighton, settled into the guest room, and freshened up right before synagogue. And oh, it’d been the loveliest thing to see him for the first time since Hannukuh, with his bright grey eyes and dark brown hair and sympathetic, warm smile, and the biggest hug Aziraphale could have wanted. A slice of home brought straight to his doorstep. They’d been waiting for Crowley to arrive, to drive them just as he’d driven Aziraphale nearly every single Friday for half a year. Then Aziraphale’s messages had set off an alert, and the doctor read an unfortunate text from Crowley about Bealz’ sudden illness onset and Gabriel being busy for the weekend. In an additional message, he was asked to pass on a genuine apology to Raphael, begging him not to think Crowley was ‘flaky’ and expressing the intention of meeting properly soon. </p><p>Aziraphale had attempted to tell him that Beatrix might get better and Raphael wouldn’t be leaving until early Monday morning, but Crowley had ensured that it was a rather nasty bug.</p><p>And by the time that weekend was over, Raphael, while always so devoted to a mentality of open mindedness, couldn’t help but be concerned anyway. Aziraphale couldn’t fault him- he’d defended plenty of past boyfriends who didn’t deserve such loyalty, and when he heard the words spill from his lips that Crowley was different, Crowley was <em> special </em>, he knew that no matter how true they rang, he sounded like a broken record. </p><p>“I’ll give him another chance, Aziraphale, if you really think he’s worth it,” his dearest friend had promised, “just please, please don’t let yourself be used again. I can’t stand to see you hurt. Make sure he really deserves it.”</p><p>“He does,” Aziraphale insisted, gating the emotion behind the earnestness of the statement, “Oh, Raph, I promise, he’s so very sweet. He treats me like a king. We wouldn’t have even had dinner the last few nights, nor would this apartment be so clean, had he not prepared it all the last time he was here. He would do anything for me.”</p><p>“Anything,” Raphael responded, with such a heartfelt, fragile gaze it was clear a dam was built behind those silver eyes that knew Aziraphale so very well, down to his core, “except meet your best friend?”</p><p>“He’s taking care of his own,” Aziraphale defended, “Please- please, just trust me. I know I haven’t had the best judgement in the past, but Crowley- Raphael, he loves me so much- more than you could imagine one person loving another. When you see it, it will simply- oh, it will break your heart.”</p><p>“I hope so, Az,” his oldest friend said, and he meant it, too, “I really do.”</p><p>Aziraphale took a deep breath, smiling softly, “He’s worth it. He deserves it. You’ll like him. I promise, you will.” </p><p>The smile he got in return was so broken and so filled with doubt that it crushed him, but he knew. He knew that after a lifetime pursuing knowledge, this reigned true above all. It was as natural and true a law as physics; Crowley loved him. Crowley would do anything for him, to the point of disconcertment. He wouldn’t have missed this without a good reason. </p><p>Which was why, when monday arrived, Aziraphale was taken quite by surprise to see Beatrix perched on a bench outside the hospital despite the rainy weather, scrolling through their phone as they nursed an energy drink. </p><p>“You really oughtn’t drink those so soon after you were just ill,” he couldn’t help but fuss. </p><p>For his trouble, he earned a long, hard, icy blue stare. </p><p>“I was ill?”</p><p>Aziraphale frowned. Beatrix sucked their teeth. </p><p>“That lying little serpent. I’ve been tip top, swear it. It’s him that’s been pitiful.” </p><p>Blonde brows furrowed in confusion. Sure, Crowley was having a rough go of things, but who didn’t, now and then? “I know he’s been in a bit of a rut-” </p><p>“A rut?” Bealz parroted back with a doubtful incredulity, “C’mon, Fell. If you’ve signed up to be ‘is daddy you ought to be a bit quicker on the uptake.” </p><p>Before he could be bothered to unpack what <em> that </em>possibly meant, there seemed to be an emergency with someone dragging a fainting man in the doors, and he was quick to tend to it. </p><p>The morning was a madhouse within the A&amp;E. With the new changes Aziraphale had been urged to make, everything was a bit more backed up than usual. It wasn’t until two hours of interactions with nurse’s that his counterpart happened to be the one he was looking for.</p><p>Crowley looked exhausted. Dark shadows lay under his eyes. He looked even more gaunt then usual, as if he hadn’t been eating and might crash over if a person so much as blew on him. When pinned under concerned blue eyes, he had the audacity to scowl back- a phenomenon that hadn’t occurred in approximately nine entire months. It was his defensive default. Aziraphale would have recognized it a mile off, and it only proved that he had every fathomable reason to be immensely concerned. </p><p>His episodes never affected his work. Crowley had been sure to explain that. Is that what this was? Aziraphale couldn’t be sure. It seemed a bit of a stretch to assume that being upset after a bad week equated depression. Then again, Crowley had been out of sorts for close to two weeks, hadn’t he? </p><p><em> Avoidance. Beatrix said that was an indicator. He’s been avoiding me for nearly a week now, </em>a voice whispered in the back of his head. </p><p>“Crowley,” he said gently, but not <em> too </em>gently. Crowley had been nothing but entirely stringent about maintaining an air of distance and professionalism at work, “I had an interesting conversation with Dr. Bealz, this morning.” </p><p>“Fascinating,” the nurse sniped back, not allowing the implication of feeling even the tiniest bit caught, “How about your next thrilling encounter be with Mr. Samuels. Poor bloke has a rash like pattern on the underside of his calf, varicose veins, and tenderness. Bay eight.” </p><p>A chart was slapped into his hands, Crowley storming off in the opposite direction, and Aziraphale huffed at the stubbornness of it all. Well, he’d known when he’d signed on that Crowley could be difficult when he got into a proper mood.</p><p>Nearly an hour later, the A&amp;E was all but at a screeching halt, stuck still amidst rows and rows of red tape. Aziraphale might have assumed more quickly that they wouldn’t remain that way long before Crowley broke out the scissors and started slashing through it. </p><p>“Crowley, these charts are a mess, the new formatting is slowin’ everything down-”</p><p>“Then forget the bloody charts,” he snapped, snatching them out of Adam’s hands, placing them on top of a stack, and moving them to the back desk, “Madame Tracy, you know what to do.” </p><p>She nodded, aiding him in taking the many piles and shifting them out of the way. </p><p>“I’ll go to intake now.” </p><p>“What’s happening?” Adam asked.</p><p>“We’re doing our jobs,” Crowley replied curtly, “The charts can wait. The patients can’t.”</p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale started, “You know we have to make this transition-”</p><p>“And we will when we’re not in the middle of a bloody crisis! There’s a girl in the waiting room whose appendix has been fixed to rupture for two hours! Patients first. That’s our job, doctor, or have you forgotten?” he snapped, jaw set and eyes burning with determination. </p><p>Aziraphale sighed. He knew Crowley well enough to tell when he was fixed on something. Well. He <em> did </em>hate paperwork. </p><p>“Very well, but not a single one of those files is to go missing.” </p><p>“Right. Adam, help Tracy get bodies in beds. Anathema, start intake interviews starting at highest priority to lowest, I’ll help you out, and <em> all </em>you lot- not a single patient is to be left without a check-in for more than forty-five minutes. Understood?”</p><p>A myriad of responses voiced confirmation. </p><p>“Dr. Fell, I need to get some temp nurses in here.”</p><p>Aziraphale chewed his cheek nervously. They were meant to be cutting back on expenses, but Crowley was right. The A&amp;E was backed up all the way to Hell, and there were serious conditions being overlooked. </p><p>“Alright. Two.” </p><p>“Five!” </p><p>“Three. Last offer.” </p><p>“Fine,” Crowley hissed, snatching up the phone. </p><p>With the aid of temporary nurses and an unforgivingly firm hand on Crowley’s part, they managed to reduce the size of the waiting room to half capacity for the next shift. All nurses were kept an hour late for the proper filing before Crowley let them go at long last. A similarly icy dismissal was delivered to Aziraphale when he attempted to encourage the nurse to go home. </p><p><em> “You </em>told me not one of these files are to go missing. This is my job, you’ve agreed to bloody well let me do it.” </p><p>Golden eyes didn’t meet blue as the cold sentiment was delivered. Crowley might as well have had blinking neon signs pointing to his head and gaudily flashing “diversion!” and “danger!”. </p><p>“I could help,” Aziraphale offered diplomatically, only to get a glare so dubious it turned his ears red. Perhaps administrative work wasn’t his strong suit. Or organization. Or computing. Perhaps they were equally aware of such a fact.</p><p>“You can help us all by going home. Another long day tomorrow. You won’t do anyone any good needlessly sacrificing rest.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed, delivering a long look to Crowley, who pointedly ignored him as he tapped away at the computer, looking to and from the files in his lap. </p><p>“Crowley, I’m worried about you.” </p><p>Crowley frowned, glaring back up at him yet again.</p><p>“Has my work been unsatisfactory, Dr. Fell?” </p><p>“I don’t mean in a professional capacity, I think you know that.” </p><p>“In that case, I hardly think this is an appropriate setting for the conversation.” </p><p>“Then I’ll be needing a time and place that is appropriate, elsewise it greatly feels as if you’re avoiding me.” </p><p>A bit of shame crossed Crowley’s features, despite his best efforts to hide it. When he turned his mutated eyes back at his partner, they were softer. </p><p>“Tomorrow night. I’ll come to yours,” he said, and Aziraphale could not be sure how, perhaps they’d been together long enough to determine Crowley’s tells, but he knew immediately that the promise was not one of when they might discuss. It was a promise to postpone again, to try to get Aziraphale off his scent. “Now go home. I shan’t have handsome doctors distracting me.” </p><p>He attempted a coy smile, but it was all such a blatant performance that Aziraphale couldn’t even pretend to be sated. He gave a warm, concerned smile back, worry so bright and unobscured in his blue eyes that Crowley shied away from it, busying himself once more. </p><p>The next day was much the same, despite the very simple fact that it <em> shouldn’t </em>have been. The waiting room was a lazy, trickling intake of people. Even the emergency bay had greatly staggered arrivals. Warlock and Newt ended up idling about the nurse’s station to flirt and joke with its occupants while awaiting their next call out. Newt attempted to show Anathema a shortcut on her computer that caused all machines at the station to shut down, bringing IT down to the scene to do some damage control. Anathema and Tracy meandered about entertaining some of the patients with tarot readings. Adam and Warlock shot paper balls into waste bins as part of a make believe game with rules so bizarre and complex no onlookers could pretend to follow them. </p><p>All in all, it was a terribly dull day. Crowley, of course, didn’t get the memo from what Aziraphale could tell, and acted with the same intensity that he had the day before. While he didn’t bark orders at his staff, reasonable enough to assess that they were fulfilling their duties, he seemed to decide to take on all the additional upkeep on his own. He didn’t slow down until an old man named Mr. Waysworth, plagued with dementia, insisted on having a nice long chat with him. Being the natural charmer and excellent nurse he was, Crowley settled in beside him to keep him calm and cozy in the new hospital setting. The poor man had fallen in the bathroom, only to be found by his government-employed caretaker hours after. Aziraphale approached somewhere midway through their conversation.</p><p>“Mr. Waysworth, good afternoon, I’m Dr. Fell.”</p><p>The dark skinned man turned to Crowley, face masked with great confusion. “Did he ring the bell, Anthony?” </p><p>“Oh no, he’s my guest, I told him to come right in.” </p><p>“Oh, good! And did he happen to bring any food, I wonder?” the patient asked with an eager pat to his belly that made Crowley grin.</p><p>“Biscuits, in fact,” Aziraphale hummed.</p><p>“I’d be happy to get some if you let Dr. Fell give you a look,” Crowley tempted. Oh, he always had been quite good at that.</p><p>“An exam? Right in the house?” Mr. Waysworth balked. </p><p>“Well, we’ve got to get you set to rights before the party! Guess you’re just special enough for a housecall,” Crowley teased, earning a massive grin.</p><p>“You can take the doctor out of the hospital, but you can’t take the hospital out of the doctor, eh?” </p><p>The doctor and nurse gave a generous laugh. </p><p>“I am a busybody, I confess. You’ve quite got me there, Mr. Waysworth,” Aziraphale confessed.</p><p>Looking very well-pleased, the patient laid back, allowing Aziraphale to examine him with minimal disruption or complaint. </p><p>“A broken hip, likely,” Aziraphale muttered, “I’ll go ahead and put in the order for a scan.” </p><p>“Won’t the guests be coming soon?” Waysworth argued.</p><p>“Oh, the rain is dreadful, unfortunately. Most everyone can’t make it. Ruins everything, doesn’t it?” Crowley lamented.</p><p>Aziraphale held his clipboard tight, noting some glimmer of lucidity in the patient’s eyes as he took a long look at the nurse. His hand reached out, patting Crowley’s. </p><p>“It’s not so bad as all that, lad. A sad sky may trap us indoors, keep us isolated, make us feel like the world’s come to an end, but the sun will come back out and shine down on us again. Just you wait and see.” </p><p>Crowley’s lips parted the scarcest amount, his brows knotted, his eyes went wide and soft and wet. For a moment, Aziraphale thought he might cry. </p><p>Then he cleared his throat and stood sharply. </p><p>“Right,” he said in a gravelly voice, “I’ll be getting you those biscuits, then.” </p><p>He marched away, and Aziraphale turned to look after him, deeply concerned. That had been the closest he’d seen Crowley to breaking on the floor since they handled that suicide attempt together last fall. </p><p>“Well, what are you waiting for, silly lad? Go on, then,” Mr. Waysworth voice pulled him out of his thoughts. With a confused look, he laughed, pointing after Crowley, “Go after him, lover boy!” </p><p>Always having been raised to respect the elderly, and perhaps moved by being given permission to do what he truly wished to, Aziraphale followed after Crowley, finding him busying himself behind the nurse’s station, getting together biscuits and tea. </p><p>“Crowley-”</p><p>“Don’t,” Crowley warned weakly, flashing Aziraphale with wounded, watery eyes. Something shriveled up and sunk in Aziraphale’s heart, and he had to fight the sudden urge to cry. “I can’t handle it. Not now.” </p><p>He’d known. He’d known Crowley was hurting, but now he <em> saw </em>it, glaringly obvious in the bright light of day. He was in pain. He was suffering silently. </p><p>Alone. </p><p>“Alright,” he agreed with a gentleness that made Crowley’s lip tremble before he sharply turned and walked away. Aziraphale looked after him, feeling absolutely useless. He had to do something about this. Tonight. Crowley had said they could talk tonight. He’d be sure they would. </p><p>His plans went slightly awry, as when he went to meet Crowley at the nurses’ station after their shift ended, he was promptly informed that the slippery serpent had already slithered out the door. </p><p>He huffed a puff of frustration, seeking his mobile from his bag to message Crowley, only to find a message already received.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text From Charming Little Devil April 13 8:23 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Sorry, angel. I’m just too tired tonight. Going to bed early. See you Thursday. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale frowned. Thursday. Their next shift together. A sure sign that Crowley intended on putting him off again and again. </p><p>Absolutely not. Not anymore.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * *</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale found himself rooted squarely in front of Crowley’s door, full of uncertainty, doubtful thoughts pouring over. </p><p><em> Get it together, old chap, </em>he pleaded with himself. </p><p>Crowley had trusted him with so much- with <em> everything </em> as a matter of fact. So whether he liked it or not, Aziraphale was here. Aziraphale would take care of him. Aziraphale would make sure he was getting what he needed. That was the bottom line. No room for uncertainty or doubt, else Crowley would pick up on it and distort its meaning to something incorrect and self-diminishing. </p><p>With that settled, Aziraphale raised his hand and knocked on the door. </p><p>After what felt like an eternity (but his pocket watch insisted had only been four minutes), he knocked again, wondering if perhaps Crowley had gone to Beatrix and Winger’s. </p><p>A mangled, distant, unintelligible shout debunked the theory, and, deciding that was quite enough of that, he took the liberty of finding the flat key Crowley had given him in case of emergencies and let himself in. </p><p>Had the key not opened the door and had there not been red scrubs strewn about the entryway, Aziraphale might have thought he’d gotten the wrong flat. The typically immaculate space was in a shocking disarray. Bottles of varying booze were strewn out through the kitchen and living room. Some of the plants were beginning to brown and wilt. There was dirty clothing thrown everywhere, as if Crowley had not simply neglected his laundry but quite forgotten how to operate a hamper. A foul stench wafted from the sink, where a few neglected dishes were stacked.</p><p>Aziraphale, with nervous anticipation churning unpleasantly in his gut, found his way to Crowley’s bedroom. It was only nine o’clock, there was little chance Crowley had gotten here much more than fifteen minutes before Aziraphale had, yet the way he was wrapped in a mountain of comforters and blankets made it seem as if he’d been hibernating for the whole of winter and refused to believe it was spring. The curtains were drawn shut, the room quite dark. As Aziraphale approached the bed, he surmised based on the mildewy scent of sweat and booze that the sheets hadn’t been washed in some time. </p><p>“If you’ve come to get me to eat, the answer is the same as yesterday: fuck off,” a voice so muffled it was practically unintelligible sounded from under the lump of cushioning. </p><p>“I don’t believe I will,” Aziraphale tutted disapprovingly. </p><p>Were Crowley not in the midst of a terrible emotional state, Aziraphale might have laughed at the way the blankets exploded off the bed in every direction. At how Crowley struggled as he tangled himself, desperately trying to turn, to sit up, to face Aziraphale, clearly shocked at his presence. </p><p>“I wasn’t- you hadn't- I didn’t-” he struggled, pale and sickly, eyes darting around in a way that foretold an anxiety spiral like a green sky before a tornado. At last, he cast his eyes at Aziraphale’s feet, wrapped in a blanket so tightly it was as if he might fall apart were he stripped of it, “You shouldn’t be here.” </p><p>“Oh, my darling,” Aziraphale sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and taking a moment to remove his shoes. When the task was completed, he scooted close to Crowley, ignoring the way he winced away, and wrapped him in his arms, pulling his face to his neck so he might cradle him. “On the contrary, I should have been here much sooner.” </p><p>Crowley went stiff and rigid, the anxiety toughening around him like a shell. Aziraphale nosed behind his ear, laying soft kisses there. </p><p>“It’s alright, Crowley. I have you.” </p><p>“You should go,” Crowley choked out through a tightened, strained throat. </p><p>“I won’t. I promised to take care of you. I haven’t been. You’ve been suffering through this all alone. I’ve been failing you.” </p><p>“No,” somehow, the voice came out even more stressed and mangled, “No, you could never- I just- I’ve been disappointing you so much. I didn’t want to face it. I couldn’t let you see.” </p><p>“You have <em> not </em>disappointed me, Anthony. If you incite my disapproval, I will make it very clear. Now why have you been hiding from me, my darling? Why can’t I see?” </p><p>“Because you’ll never see me the same ever again,” Crowley wailed, and at last, the tension flooded from his body by way of emotional breakdown. His limbs went loose, he fell against Aziraphale, he sniffled and sobbed, voice barely distinguishable, “The last- last time you saw me, you said I was strong. I’m not. I’m not strong right now, Aziraphale. I’m so weak. I’m so ashamed. I’m <em> so </em>ashamed.” </p><p>“Oh, no no no, my sweet, dear boy,” Aziraphale sighed. He wanted to be angry at himself. Wanted to kick himself for sticking his foot in his mouth like that. But he couldn’t. This was the first time he was witnessing this. The first chance he had to take notes, notice the patterns, take his findings and establish a proper course of action. He buried his face in Crowley’s hair.</p><p>“You don’t have to be strong, Crowley. Be as weak as you need to be, I won’t let anything happen to you. You don’t have to be alright, or pretend to be fine. You don’t need to have it sorted. Right now, in this moment, you don’t have to do anything but have a good cry. To let yourself feel whatever it is you feel. Don’t worry about the practical things, I’ll handle them.” </p><p>By some act of divine grace, Crowley didn’t argue, he simply wiggled just free enough of his blanket to curl impossibly close to Aziraphale, cried as hard as he could, rambled for minutes on end about how tired- how <em> exhausted </em>he was, how it was so hard, it was all so hard, how he couldn’t possibly do it. </p><p>“Of course not,” Aziraphale whispered, pressing sweet kisses against Crowley’s face when he’d let up enough on his death grip enough for Aziraphale to do so, “It’s so heavy, isn’t it? I know I can’t carry it for you, but I can walk beside you on your journey. I’m here to help you up when you fall. To lean on when you get tired. To provide sustenance and remind you to rest. To keep the additional burdens by the wayside. I’m going to stay right here until it’s all manageable again, until you can move forward on your own. I’m here for you, my dearest heart.”</p><p>Crowley gave him a watery attempt at a smile that came closer to a grimace and closed his eyes, letting out a horribly exhausted sigh. His shaking hand raised to clasp the one Aziraphale had rested on his cheek. Oh, the poor thing. He was wrecked. His eyes were red and puffy, tear tracks staining his face, his nose a bright pink. The sight of it shattered Aziraphale’s heart into one thousand pieces. </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” he blubbered again after a moment, “I’m so sorry I’m like this.”</p><p>“I’m not. Crowley, do you remember what I told you? Back when I first confessed to you?” </p><p>Crowley didn’t respond. Didn’t meet his eyes. He’d take it as a no. </p><p>“I told you that I love you,” he pressed a tender kiss to one cheek bone, wiping away a tear as he did so, “and I want you,” another kiss to the opposite side of his face, “At your baseline. In the throes of episodes. Right now.” </p><p>Crowley’s face crumpled and he shook his head, cracking away at Aziraphale’s poor heart until it was exposed and bleeding, “I don’t think I deserve that.” </p><p>“You don’t have to think so,” Aziraphale hummed, “but it’s true that you deserve it nonetheless."</p><p>A vague noise of emotional acknowledgement sounded from Crowley as he played with Aziraphale's bowtie. A few moments of silence passed where Aziraphale allowed him to work out his thoughts and build the courage to share them. </p><p>"I'm sorry about-about blowing off Raphael too... my anxiety was just so bloody miserable."</p><p>Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head, "Well. You might have said as much. He's a psychiatrist. He would have understood." </p><p>"Nnngh, I would have been wretched company. He would have thought I'm no good for you, I know it, and you would have realized he was right."</p><p><em> Well now he thinks as much, after you blew him off with a fake excuse last minute, </em> Aziraphale might have said, were Crowley in a state to worry about anything outside himself. </p><p>"Those are some mighty big assumptions, my sweet," he hummed low, pecking an affectionate kiss to the tip of Crowley's freckled, hooked nose, "There will be another chance, and so long as you're honest with us both, there will be no qualms. He will see you are nothing but the absolute <em>best </em>thing that's ever happened to me. For now, put that out of your mind. You are miraculously sneaky, but I believe I have you in my clutches now, you slippery serpent. I promised to take charge of you, to take care of you. I have every intention of keeping my promises. Will you be a good boy for me and listen? I won’t ask too much of you, I swear it.” </p><p>Sorrowful amber eyes remained hidden behind pale closed lids. Aziraphale nearly thought Crowley had tuned him out, but after a moment, his lips twitched and he jerked his head in a nod. </p><p>“I’ll try.” </p><p>“Oh, thank you, darling. So sweet for me,” Aziraphale praised, kissing his cheek and pulling away at last. “Now let’s get you cozy in the sitting room so I can wash these sheets for you.” </p><p>Crowley gave a tired, broody huff, and instead of removing the blanket that wrapped tightly around him, hooded his head with it. He stood to his feet, an arm emerging to grab the bottle of bourbon from off the side table. </p><p>“Absolutely not,” Aziraphale scolded gently, snatching the bottle from Crowley’s grasp and levering a sympathetic glance at Crowley’s tearful face. Oh, he did make it difficult to say no sometimes, but the last thing he needed at the moment was to carry on with what appeared to be a week-long depressant bender after, apparently, starving himself the entire time. Well, Beatrix <em> had </em>warned him about his tendency to indirectly self harm. “Go on, love. Go have a lie down on the sofa, I’ll be there soon.” </p><p>Crowley slinked away, an amorphous six-foot bundle of blankets from behind.</p><p>“And don’t let me catch you with any other liquor!” Aziraphale warned after him, earning a whining harrumph for his trouble. </p><p>He made quick work of stripping the bed, throwing the linens into the wash and starting it up. The meticulous part of him wanted to set in on cleaning immediately, to gather the laundry and take out the rubbish and deep clean the kitchen. Perhaps he wasn’t the most vigilant in terms of housework, but before Crowley came along to be his sweet little housemaid, he’d done well enough ensuring his situation was decent, at least. Still, he pushed the impulse away. It could all wait. Crowley had more pressing needs that required tending to. </p><p>“Alright, dear heart,” he sighed as he lifted Crowley’s bundled feet and settled down on the opposite side of the sofa, resting them back into his lap and rubbing what felt to be the sole of one of them absent-mindedly. The redhead had disappeared into the blanket yet again. “What for dinner?” </p><p>Crowley released a pitiful groan of reluctance, “‘m not hungry.” </p><p>“I know, darling, but I promise you’ll feel a bit better after you’ve eaten- and you <em> will </em>eat,” he asserted, “So do you have a preference or shall I decide?” </p><p>The faceless mound of blankets was completely silent for a few moments.</p><p>“Pizza,” Crowley finally ceded, sounding none too happy about it. Perhaps he’d decided that if he must suffer, so must Aziraphale. Good enough. Aziraphale wouldn’t be put off by some sub-par cuisine. Luckily, he already knew how Crowley preferred it, so he didn’t need to go picking at him to choose toppings. He made quick work of placing an order. </p><p>“Would you like to watch something, darling?” Aziraphale asked after hanging up, “let your mind drift on some lighter topics?” </p><p>“Unlikely,” Crowley sighed, but emerged from his shelter long enough to snatch the remote, anyway. He browsed Netflix for what felt like an eternity before finally turning on some of the Great British Bake Off. </p><p>The night crawled by slowly. There were moments Crowley was so still and so quiet that Aziraphale thought he might be asleep, but then he would execute a tiny sigh or squirm. He seemed to yearn for light touch and presence but showed discomfort when Aziraphale attempted to coddle, cuddle, or spoil him, which was quite distressing, seeing as it was what he needed. With some encouragement and, perhaps, a bit of bullying, he downed a cup of soda and one and a half slices of pizza. He attempted to slink off to the bathroom a bit quickly for Aziraphale’s liking, and was kept in place for approximately forty minutes before being allowed to go. </p><p>After expressing that he was tired and wanted to go to sleep, Aziraphale nudged Crowley into the shower and remade the bed in his absence, allowing him to fuss over the placement of his numerous blankets and pillows upon his return. He tried not to look too put out when he saw the return of that blasted weighted blanket, a sure sign that Crowley intended on keeping his distance as they slept. They got settled in, and Aziraphale got a lovely, dark view of the back of Crowley’s head from an arms-length away. </p><p>He didn’t understand why he was still so resigned. So distant. He tried to use what he knew about Crowley. Fear. Anxiety. Those were the beasts that made him run. Was he still uncertain that Aziraphale would leave when he saw something too unappealing?</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere,” he mumbled softly, but loud enough that he knew Crowley would hear. </p><p>“You can’t promise that.” </p><p>The voice was so defensive, backed by teeth, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but frown. </p><p>“Of course I can. And I do,” he replied tartly. </p><p>“Don’t you want to go home? Get away from dealing with your pathetic, needy, broken boyfriend and all his bullshit?”</p><p>“What on <em> earth </em>would possess you to think I feel that way?” Aziraphale balked.</p><p>“That’s why you don’t want to live together, isn’t it?”</p><p>The first impulse Aziraphale fought was to reel back, sit up, gawk at Crowley. He knew he was hurting, but giving such a reaction to a shot like that would be like coddling a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. The second impulse was to roll his eyes- that, he could freely do, and he did. Ever since Gabriel and Bealz had moved in together two weeks prior, Crowley had been going mad with the passive aggressions over it. At the very least he had come around to being direct over the whole matter, whatever cheek came along with it. </p><p>“If you’re going to insult me, might you do me the courtesy of turning to look at me?” Aziraphale asked in turn, trying to keep his voice calm, though it was a bit clipped. </p><p>After a moment, Crowley turned over to face Aziraphale. With the subtle light coming in the curtains behind him, Aziraphale’s eyes hadn’t adjusted enough yet to make out his face. Still, he could tell from the angle of his chin that he wasn’t brave enough to meet his gaze. His impulses extended to his mouth, and just as well, Crowley never seemed to worry much about it until after the fact.</p><p>“You know how I feel about you putting words in my mouth, Crowley,” he started, “I’ve made a promise to you. A serious commitment. Don’t you dare trivialize it by suggesting I take it lightly.” </p><p>He paused with the full intention of not continuing until Crowley acknowledged the sentiment. </p><p>“‘M sorry…,” came a mumble, half-hearted and pouty, but offered nonetheless. </p><p>“Now. You’re very handsome, my dear, there’s no doubt about that, but even you can’t make manipulation look charming. So, is there a question you have for me? Preferably without any cheek?” </p><p>Crowley was quiet for a time, his hand splayed on the sheets between them. With a slow sigh, Aziraphale reached out to take it in his fingers. A gust of air whooshed from Crowley’s mouth as if he’d been holding his breath. Oh, this was a delicate balance- quelling his anxiety without encouraging his impertinence. </p><p>“Why don’t you want to live together?” Aziraphale heard after a time, Crowley’s voice soft and timid, almost a whisper. </p><p>“Well, I can assure you it’s certainly not because I don’t love you, don’t desire you, that you’re too much for me to handle, or your episodes are too difficult to witness, so if you’d kindly put that rubbish out of your mind and into the bin where it belongs,” Aziraphale chided softly, pulling Crowley’s hand forward and kissing his knuckles. He felt the tension slide from both of them in tandem at the tiny display of love. A much-needed point of connection. He took a moment to organize his thoughts. He didn’t like showing his soft bits, not to anyone, but Crowley wasn’t just anyone. He was <em> the </em>one. And as he lay here, suffering through Aziraphale witnessing all the most vulnerable parts of himself that he couldn’t contain if he wished to, didn’t he deserve some transparency in turn? Even if it stung a bit?</p><p>“I need my own space, because if I didn’t have it, I fear I wouldn’t practice any self care at all. I don’t withdraw because I’m tired of you, I do it so I have the energy to take care of you the way you deserve. You take care of me, too; of course you do. You’re so quickly becoming such a large part of lifting the burden, of finding room to breathe. In fact, it’s happening far more quickly than it has with any partner I’ve had before, and that makes a certain amount of sense: I’ve never in my life had anyone quite like you. But you need to let that process happen naturally, Anthony. I don’t believe it would take any stretch of the imagination to understand that I’m not the sort of man who will lean into something by being bullied towards it. I know patience isn’t your strongest virtue, but please, try to meet me halfway?” </p><p>The breathing he heard was so slow and steady and it stretched on for so long that he wondered if Crowley had fallen asleep. Then, suddenly, he found himself (with no shortage of heartfelt relief) with his arms full of sweet redhead. He felt Crowley’s nose butt up against his own, a shy kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth. </p><p>“I understand. I’m sorry for pushing, I really am. I just-,” his breath shuddered out against Aziraphale’s cheek, their foreheads tipping together, “Every time I shut your door as I’m leaving, it feels like I’m leaving the best part of my life behind. It can be frustrating. I didn’t want to deny myself that any more. It was- it was selfish, I see that now. I was only thinking of myself. You just- you take such good care of me. Being with you makes me feel good about myself. Helps me relax and let go. Sometimes I get so caught up basking in it that… that I forget to check in with you and see how you’re doing. It’s like I forget you’re a human and not really an angel. You deserve to be heard and validated and taken care of, too. You deserve your space, if you want it. I’ll do better, I promise.”</p><p>“Oh, you sweet thing,” Aziraphale laughed quietly, overcome with emotion at the raw, genuine confession. He couldn’t be angry- he <em> wanted </em>Crowley to be swept away in the happiness they found together. He wanted him to be high on the sensation of feeling good about himself. Crowley deserved it. He was a lovely person. He had every right to know as much. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the slim waist, giving it a squeeze, and delivered a soft, chaste kiss to lips masked by darkness. </p><p>“Hardly,” Crowley sighed, receiving a pinch to his arse for his self-depreciation. He released a huff of air through his nose in response, and it was close enough to a laugh that Aziraphale marked it down as a victory. “But look, Aziraphale, I won’t push. I want us to move forward because we both feel it’s right. I’d hate to bully you into something just for you to resent me for it in the long haul…” </p><p>“I want that too, Crowley, and I could hardly resent you. I think you know I’m more than capable of putting my foot down if I don’t want something.” </p><p>Crowley gave a weak laugh in his chest, readjusting to bury his face under Aziraphale’s chin and sling his limbs over him. The weighted blanket was left, forgotten, behind him, and Aziraphale reveled in yet another triumph. </p><p>“Is worrying about all this what triggered your downswing?” he tutted disapprovingly. Indeed, he was having trouble not holding it against himself for failing to do a bit more damage control, anticipating Crowley’s hurts. He should have known from the moment Crowley so bitterly told him of their friends’ decision. He’d crossed it off as jealousy of Bealz being swept out of his life, in a way, and so quickly at that. </p><p>“A little,” a mumbled confession poured out, muffled by his own sleep shirt, “and then there’s the changes at work, and Faust’s stupid girlfriend-”</p><p>“Ah, so that was real.”</p><p>He felt Crowley pull away to look at him, “Of course it was-!”</p><p>A few beats of silence passed, Crowley re-planted his face and heaved a great sigh, “I guess I’ve been lying to you a lot lately.”</p><p>“You can’t do that, Crowley.” </p><p>“I know…”</p><p>“It hurts when you hide things from me. When you’re silently suffering and you feel like you can’t trust me with the important things, I feel like I’ve failed you.”</p><p>“You could never fail me,” Crowley urged, voice low and broken. </p><p>“You do know that it’s alright to ask me questions? We can always communicate, no matter what’s happening.” </p><p>“I know,” he heard Crowley sniffle, “And I’m glad we have.” </p><p>“Feeling a little better?”</p><p>“Tit for tat,” the voice sighed back, “Now I’m drowning in guilt, and it’s no less than I deserve.” </p><p>“Nonsense, darling. It’s our first time going through this together, there’s sure to be growing pains. I do believe that we both have plenty to take away, and I’d hope that in the future you won’t hide it from me?”</p><p>“I won’t,” Crowley rushed so honestly and eagerly that there was no room for doubt, “And I’m sorry, again. I was scared.” </p><p>“I know you were, my dove. I’m not angry, and I’m determined to show you that there’s no reason you would ever have to fear judgement from me. You can make it up to me by sleeping, mmh?” Aziraphale encouraged, kissing the crown of Crowley’s head and rubbing slow, comforting circles into his back. </p><p>“Hypnotize me?” </p><p>Aziraphale let out a slow chuckle at the breathless request, reaching to pinch that point of Crowley’s upper ear and rub slow pressuring circles into it, “of course, my darling.”</p><p>The night passed smoothly enough. Aziraphale might have stayed up to read, seeing as that he himself didn’t need more than five hours or so a night, but Crowley desperately needed some good rest. He didn’t want to chance sabotaging that by keeping the light on. He got his chance to read anyway. Sometime around three in the morning, Crowley woke him up, tearfully confiding that he was having some suffocating thoughts and asking so sweetly to be read to. </p><p>Aziraphale was more than happy to comply and pet Crowley’s hair for the forty minutes it took for him to fall asleep. They’d finished the Lord of the Rings trilogy and were onto Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, which Crowley was head over heels in love with, but Aziraphale continued to read One Hundred Years of Solitude, knowing it wouldn’t distract Crowley too much from falling into the rhythm of his voice and drifting back into sleep.</p><p>The next day came too soon, if Crowley’s upset mumbles were to be believed. Aziraphale relented to his requests of “just a half hour more” until ten thirty, when he realized the pattern would continue all day, were he to let it. While Crowley made a face at getting dressed for the day, they made a compromise of joggers, so he might still be comfortable but not lounge about in underwear or pyjamas. With a great deal of encouragement, he called his therapist to discuss his missing of two meetings and rescheduled for Friday. With even further nagging, he retreated to his studio to do his yoga routine for the first time in nearly ten days. He emerged seeming a bit more at peace with himself, though still solemn. They had a discussion about the benefits of swapping shifts, that he might have the day after off. Aziraphale left the decision ultimately up to him, but greatly supported it. The day passed, hour by hour, meal by meal. Crowley watched trashy reality telly and cared for his plants (whispering apologies to them that Aziraphale wasn’t meant to overhear) as Aziraphale deep cleaned his flat. Very little conversation was to be had. Less throughout the day, until they settled in bed early to read more of Hitchhiker. Crowley was so exhausted that sleep overcame him before nine thirty.</p><p>The next morning, Crowley was most certainly returned to his non-communicative state, in something of a trance as he did his best to listen to Aziraphale, who coaxed him to get dressed and do his yoga routine yet again. It took a bit of effort not to tease the redhead when he came looking for him a couple hours later to find him asleep on his mat. Aziraphale made omelettes, of which Crowley ate a pitiful two bites before dissociating. He didn’t even touch his coffee- and he <em> loved </em> coffee. With a gentle warning that he wasn’t getting up from the table until he’d eaten at least three fourths of his breakfast, Aziraphale gave him some social space, busying himself with reading as he drank his morning tea. They sat there for perhaps upwards of two hours, Crowley managing a meager few bites more, even putting his head down for a time, before Aziraphale caught him gazing at him with a thousand yard stare. </p><p>He gazed back from over his glasses, waiting for Crowley to say something. He didn’t. He looked tired and contemplative, trapped deep within himself. Aziraphale marked his page, folded his glasses, and pushed both of them to the side, leaning forward to smile warmly at Crowley.</p><p>“Penny for your thoughts, my darling?” </p><p>After a time, Crowley found his voice, however small it was, “They’re not worth that much.” </p><p>Aziraphale gave him a gentle look, reaching forward to take his hands and tasking himself not to sigh when Crowley shrank away again. Well. Rome wasn’t built in a day and what not.</p><p>“I’d very much like to hear them anyway.” </p><p>Golden eyes gave him a long, deep analysis, Crowley’s tired face doing an impeccable job of not betraying whatever emotions were lurking beneath. He looked absolutely knackered. At the end of his rope. </p><p>“I know you say that you love me. I know you think that won’t change but,” he cast his eyes down, appearing miles away as he shook his head, “It doesn’t make sense. There’s nothing that could explain why you’d be so okay with this happening ever again- much less knowing it will never- never <em> stop </em>happening. That there’s nothing you can do about it. I must be- be manipulating you somehow. I’m not good for you. Never will be.”</p><p>Hopelessness, that was the expression on his face. The emotion of someone facing some heart-breaking, inevitable truth. </p><p>Aziraphale took a deep breath, trying not to let the hurt from that sentiment sink too deep. </p><p>“How could you not be?” Aziraphale asked with a genuine disbelief, longing ever so deeply to take Crowley’s hand in his own, “my darling, if standing by you through this a few times a year is the price to pay for your love, then I’ve found myself with quite the bargain.” </p><p>Crowley’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head harder. </p><p>“No. There’s not- there’s nothing that could make that ring true. There’s nothing you could love about me that deserves that kind of dedication or patience.” </p><p>“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, “You are the most sweet, clever, caring-”</p><p>“No,” Crowley said with a cutting edge, looking like he might cry. He snarled in disgust just a touch- most likely targeted towards himself, “Those don’t mean anything, Aziraphale. They’re just mindless placating praises that you use because you know I like to hear them.”</p><p>“That is <em> not </em> true,” Aziraphale whispered harshly, bringing his chair closer and grasping Crowley’s hand feverishly into his own. He needed him to know, to feel just a <em> fraction </em> of the love that was overflowing in troves from Aziraphale’s heart. He loved him. He wanted him. So much that it burned him up inside. “They are not mindless, and frankly, sometimes you don’t like to hear it. Including now. That doesn’t make them any less true. It’s your actions that prove it. The way you live your life. They mean <em> quite </em>a bit, my dear.” </p><p>“Well they’re not enough,” Crowley rebutted in a broken voice, looking into Aziraphale’s eyes at last. He looked so lost. </p><p>Didn’t he know? Aziraphale was here. Right here. He was found. </p><p>“Not enough for what?”</p><p>“To make it all make sense. To justify what I put you through.” </p><p>Aziraphale searched his eyes, sighing deeply and raising his hand to rest it on the nape of Crowley’s neck, toying with the short, soft red hairs residing there. </p><p>“Crowley. All my partners that I’ve ever had- not just partners, some of my friends and family, too, they found reasons I wasn’t enough for them. Dangled it over my head. Insisted there was room for improvement and pushed me to the point of exhaustion chasing after an unattainable picture of what might be ‘good enough’. They all took displeasure with how I conducted myself in this part of life or that, and so many left me when I couldn’t make the changes fast enough or to their liking. For the longest time, I thought that’s what it meant for a partner to make you want to be something better than what you are,” he started, feeling a bit raw already. At the very least, his vulnerability had Crowley’s attention. Those golden galaxies had unpaused the orbit of their solar systems, full of activity and movement yet again, and for that, it was worth it to relive the pain. </p><p>“And then I met you,” he sighed, full of adoration and honesty, “And you looked at me like I was the cause for everything good that ever happened on earth. You saw who I was and didn’t just accept it- you told me to stop apologizing for it. I should have known- I should have known at that very moment that you’d turn my life upside down. No one had ever suggested, before, that maybe it wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough, maybe the standards were the problem. Crowley, I<em> do </em> love you for your kindness and cleverness and selflessness and wit, but I also love you because you have never once made me feel like I am not enough. I never gave myself much credit before, but I’m <em> proud </em>of who I am when I’m with you. You make me want to be a better man, and not because I’m not a good enough one already, but because I can be. Because I want to be. Because I’d be happy to be, especially for you.” </p><p>Crowley was most certainly present now, his face twisted in emotion as he clutched Aziraphale’s hand so hard it might be mistaken that he was about to be ripped away. </p><p>“Really?” he asked, breathlessly.</p><p>“Really,” Aziraphale sighed, smiling so bright his own eyes watered from the raw truth of it all, “And my dear, you don’t <em> put </em>me through anything. You’re going through hardship. I’m sure you’ll see me through my fair share as well. I choose to be here, and I will continue to choose to be here every day that I’m lucky enough to be by your side.” </p><p>A weak smile broke across Crowley’s face, but it felt like the sun breaking through the clouds after weeks of rain. It wavered a few times just to come back stronger, more honest, more bright. </p><p>“Well. Watch out angel. ‘Cause I love you at my side, but you should know I’m trekking blindfolded through the wilderness. Who knows what kind of trouble I’m going to drag you through."</p><p>Aziraphale gave a coy smile, “It’s alright, However much it offends your particular fashion sensibilities, I’ll just have to get you one of those ridiculous backpack leashes that parents put on their poor children.”</p><p>Crowley threw his head back and howled with laughter. Aziraphale laughed out loud with him, pulling him into a messy kiss, wrought with stray giggles. </p><p>“Oh, you think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Crowley laughed, wiping unfallen tears from his eyes. </p><p>“Whatever made you think I was joking?” Aziraphale asked with a playful mockery of solemnness. </p><p>They’d get through this just fine; Aziraphale had never doubted it. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! Sorry for the delay in the chapter &lt;3 I got a bit of negative feedback that made me do some soul searching, but I'm back and I'm happy I've shared this fic with you all! You know that comments fuel me, but if you have questions that aren't directly related to details/characters/subtext within the fic, I would be most grateful if you reached out via DM on Twitter (Get_wrexed) or Tumblr (getwrexed). Keep in mind the tags, and if you have any problems with tag-related content, this may not be the fic for you- and that's okay! This fandom has so much beautiful work out there! For those of you that enjoy this brain child of mine for what it is, you are the peanut butter to my jam 💜💜💜</p><p>I have started a new fic that I haven't quite gotten the bravery to post the first chapter of yet, but it's a latemedica-Victorian-era Omegaverse (yes I'm proud trash) nobility romance because, if you couldn't tell, I'm a sucker for period romance. If that sounds like something you'd be remotely interested in, keep your eyes peeled ;P</p><p>Also the 18th was my one year anniversary for the first ever fic I posted! If you've been with me since A Kind of Magic, THANK YOU, and I promise I'm not done with that fic! I'm simply following the writing muse wherever it takes me. </p><p>Today's fic rec is Beckers522's Megamind!AU in which Crowley is a mischief-doing villain and Aziraphale is the hero assigned to deal with him. You can find it here https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242948/chapters/63876598</p><p>Last bit of disclaimer that the depression depicted was greatly based on my own, and depression can show itself in many different ways. Please know that mental illness does not define you and while it's a mountain we need to climb ourselves, there's no shame in asking for help!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Be careful with them! They’re not playing cards you can grab at the drugstore!” Anathema fussed. </p><p>“‘Drugstore’,” Crowley mocked the American term with its proper accent for good measure before sounding a snort, “You know, for just having spent a weekend at a yoga and meditation retreat, you sure are uptight.” </p><p>His fellow nurse served him with a glower that looked closer to a pout as she watched him shuffle her tarot deck across the table. Outside the window beside them was the fleeting countryside on a dreary day. It was hardly as lovely as the weather had been during their retreat in the Highlands. </p><p>“I don’t <em> mean </em>to be, it’s just that those cards were my grandmothers.” </p><p>“Hush,” her friend teased, “You’re distracting me from focusing my energies.” </p><p>Perhaps he might have been joking a few days before, but yoga benefited Crowley for a very specific reason. It opened him to the universe when his anxiety would have him shut itself off from it. It aided him in feeling grounded and secure, nearly as much as Aziraphale did, warming to the possibilities the future could bring. Beatrix had done a marvelous job terrifying Crowley out of engaging in the paranormal, but Anathema had reassured him that reading tarot wasn’t a manipulation of the fates and it didn’t require the summoning of spirits. The loose, calm, confident state his getaway had put him in gave him the bravery to try for a reading. </p><p>Anathema huffed a little puff of air, but sat back, allowing him to close his eyes, a tingling of energy in his fingers as he shuffled the deck before handing them over at last. </p><p>She drew three cards off the top of the deck, laying them face down. </p><p>“Alright, for this spread, the first card signifies opportunity.” </p><p>With dark purple fingernails tapping over the back of the card, she flipped it. Crowley leaned over the table to get a better look, finding the image of a knight astride a white steed, one hand tight on the reins, the other upholding a goblet. Given that reading was difficult enough for him right-side-up, he wasn’t about to attempt to read the text of the card upside down. Anathema huffed a laugh and fixed him with a fond look. </p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Well, this one doesn’t require any great amount of interpretation. It’s your knight in shining armor. The Knight of Cups is a calm, powerful figure with a love of imagination and creativity. His presence brings peace with it. I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you’re being courted by someone very special.”</p><p>No doubt Crowley’s face was a bright pink if the heat pooling to his cheeks was any indication, but he smiled warmly, chest flooded with adoration. It wasn’t a surprise, not really. His and Aziraphale’s relationship felt <em> cosmic. </em>He’d found the one person who could help him tread back up the hill from rock bottom over three entire weeks, staying by him in his flat, handling all the outside responsibilities, never once losing patience with him no matter how much crying he did to Hozier songs, and still at the end of it looked at him as if he hung the stars. He’d put his own needs aside, happy to wait until Crowley was feeling better for exciting outings, restaurant visits, or heated nights in bed. There’d been some bondage, but it’d been to help Crowley feel grounded, protected, connected. It had been nothing short of a beautiful expression of intimacy. To top it all off, he’d let Crowley slither away to this weekend yoga retreat at the end of their long uphill journey, nothing but entirely supportive of anything that would bring his submissive back to the comfort of baseline.</p><p>While Crowley had enjoyed the train ride thus far, all at once he wished it might go by quicker, so he could see his love again. </p><p>“What would give you that idea?” he teased back, sharing a grin with his friend. </p><p>She snickered, flipping over the next card. A hesitant look crossed her face. Had Crowley not just spent nearly seventy two hours decompressing, he might be filled with anxiety at spotting it. He scooted closer to peer at the image responsible, tilting his head curiously at the row of swords. It wasn’t until he realized they were stuck in a dead man’s back that his stomach dropped. </p><p>“Okay, so,” she began, sounding slightly wary, “this might just be one of the worst omens you could get, but the second card of this spread represents challenges, so try to keep it in perspective. It can be indicative of danger.” </p><p>“What sort of danger?” Crowley asked hesitantly. </p><p>“Well, that’s the trouble, isn’t it? We can’t know for sure, it could be your mental health, maybe, or your career, or a friend might have backstabbed you, or maybe you and Aziraphale-” </p><p>At the sight of Crowley’s pale face and held breath, Anathema seemed to decide to change tactics.</p><p>“Well, the feeling I’m getting from this specific reading is that it’s going to be a physical event, perhaps a threat of violence. You won’t be able to predict it, this is kind of a ‘heads up’ that it’s around the corner.”</p><p>Crowley slumped back in the cushioning of his seat, smacking his forehead against the window and ignoring the pain. A token ‘Crowley’ noise slipped from his throat.</p><p>“Great, all that anxiety I just purged is flooding back. Won’t be able to leave the flat without worrying about getting mugged.” </p><p>Anathema served him with a sympathetic smile, reaching out to pat his hand. </p><p>“It’s a couple months off, I can feel it, and don’t stress too much, look-,” she paused, flipping the card so he could see it right-side-up, her fingertip circled the dark, stormy sky before tracing over the horizon, “the skies look bleak, but the sun is rising in the distance. There’s hope there. And besides, we have yet to get to your third card, the likely outcome.” </p><p>“Watch it be Death,” Crowley muttered.</p><p>“Oh hush, that card has a bad rap. Let’s see,” she flipped over the last card and <em> squealed. </em>Several bodies in the car turned to look at her. </p><p>“Wassit then?” Crowley snapped, prompting the onlookers to quickly return to their business. He turned his attention to the card, attempting to hypothesize a meaning. There were four poles, a canopy of greenery hanging between them. It reminded Crowley of a chuppah, a canopy couples might marry under in Jewish ceremonies (not that he’d researched Jewish wedding traditions, absolutely not! Who? Him? Anthony J. Crowley? Why would he? No! What? You’re mad!). Beneath the hanging garden stood two figures before a castle, hands full of flowers and raised above their heads. Overall, he decided it gave him good vibes, though he wouldn’t pretend Anathema’s reaction and the chuppah-adjacent image hadn’t encouraged such a reception. </p><p>“The Four of Wands!” she exclaimed, as if such a phrase would mean anything to him. </p><p>“And that means?” </p><p>“Well, I don’t want to make any promises, but it does foretell that with both your opportunities and challenges between you and your ending, the outcome will likely be a celebration and security in your domestic environment, though given the opportunities card you got,” she bit her lip in a botched attempt to stifle her grin, “Well let’s just say it wouldn’t be out of order to expect some sort of <em> commitment </em>in your relationship in the coming months.” </p><p>“Commitment?” he snatched to the word like a lifeline, leaning forward from his token sprawl, eyes wide behind his sunglasses as he eagerly inquired, “Like, moving in together?”</p><p>“Maybe, but oh Crowley,” she laughed, looking over the cards and adjusting them just slightly so they were in line with one another, “I have a feeling it’s going to be a bit more of a symbolic development than that. A <em> celebration. </em> A <em> milestone?” </em></p><p>
  <em> Ba-dum </em>
</p><p>Crowley sat stock still, his heart missing approximately four beats. </p><p><em> Engagement?! </em>Was the thought his mind flocked to, and he ignored the swelling of his chest, the warmth of his heart, the beating of which returned with a fast vengeance, the tears springing to his eyes. </p><p><em> It’s just a silly card game, don’t get your hopes up, </em> he admonished himself, but Crowley had always had something of a wild and active imagination. With this new information, it ran amok without a single care in the world. Oh- Oh perhaps Aziraphale really <em> did </em> want him! For keeps! He hadn’t considered- hadn’t <em> allowed </em> himself to imagine his angel might truly make him his husband, recite his vows before his god, promise to keep and love Crowley for the rest of his days. Crowley’s fingers curled closed on the cheap train table, a happy flush coloring his features. As for what <em> he </em>wanted, well, he’d known that for ages. </p><p>He would say yes, if Aziraphale asked, without a second bloody thought. </p><p>With the anxieties brought on by his second card long forgotten, the cards were put away, and they spent the remainder of their journey chattering about Bea’s careless and dangerous attempts at ghost hunting until the posh voice over the intercom announced their arrival in London only twenty minutes out. </p><p>With a quick dig through his travel bag, he yanked out his mobile, shooting Aziraphale a text. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u"> <b> <em>Text Sent to Angel May 2 5:10 PM</em> </b> </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Charming wee devil incoming- 20 min out, c u soon angel &lt;3 </b>
</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks for lugging all the way up to Scotland to come on this retreat with me, Anathema,” Crowley sighed as he stared out the window, highly content with his mobile snatched fast in his fingers.</p><p>“Of course, Crowley! Thanks for not cringing in embarrassment at my terrible attempts at yoga.”</p><p>He threw a disarming grin in her direction, “Awh nah, they weren’t terrible. You’re just a beginner, it’s to be expected.” </p><p>“At least the natural baths were a blessing.”</p><p>“Ugh, that they <em> were, </em>melted the anxiety straight out of me.”</p><p>She grinned, “Me too. Almost as good as an orgasm.”</p><p>“Almost,” he agreed with a snicker, “Not quite.”</p><p>“I’m sure you’re eager to get home to Aziraphale and remind yourself of the comparison,” she teased with a wicked smirk. </p><p>Crowley’s face and heart warmed in tandem at the reminder that he’d soon be in his partner’s arms. </p><p>“He’s picking me up, actually, and trust me, I’m eager for a multitude of reasons.” </p><p>Anathema laughed. A few comfortable minutes passed as she played with her deck before he noticed her rich brown eyes gaze at him from over her horn-rimmed glasses. </p><p>“Y’know, I was kind of surprised you asked me, given my lack of experience.”</p><p>He raised his brows at her, leveraging her with a cheeky smirk.</p><p>“Eh, you’re the only person I know who’s… y’know, ‘spiritual’. I tried to invite Bea once and we got kicked out from their antics,” he admitted, leaning forward to gossip, “and, well, it’s not rare to hook up at events like that. Thought if I had a friend with me it would keep people from coming onto me. Looks like it worked.” </p><p>“A kept man, are you?” Anathema asked with a teasing smirk. </p><p>“Kept very well, indeed,” he replied, feeling quite chuffed with the truth of the matter. His heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings in eager anticipation as they pulled into the platform. </p><p>Truly, it’d only been a few days away, but after nearly three weeks of consecutive overnights, it felt like an eternity. He’d done his best to keep from pressing about moving in together after their discussion, but there were a few lapses. The quantity of plants at Aziraphale’s would increase. Crowley would promise more enticing breakfasts if he were invited to stay. He’d ‘forget’ more and more of his things at his Dominant’s home. Luckily, his angel seemed to find it all quite endearing. Crowley wasn’t being passive aggressive so much as he was being passively hopeful and attached, and if there was one soft spot Aziraphale had, it was Crowley’s desire to be near him. To rely on and revere him. To make him pleased and proud. To be coddled and cared for by him. Yes, he was spoiled, but Aziraphale <em> did </em>seem to adore the spoiling process. Bit by bit, Crowley was becoming powerless to debunk Bealz’ embarrassingly persistent claim that Aziraphale was his ‘Daddy’. </p><p>Which was why it was a bit odd when, upon entering the lobby of the station, there wasn’t a familiar white-blonde head in sight. He gave Anathema a squeeze and exchanged kisses on the cheek, thanking her again for accompanying him on a spiritual journey before taking another lap. After nearly a half hour of wandering, Aziraphale was nowhere to be found, and had yet to reply to the text. Crowley resigned to hop on the tube towards Soho and seek him out, feeling a bit worried. Perhaps his partner had simply gotten lost in a good book, or perhaps his mother had trapped him on a phone call. </p><p>He arrived at the bookshop, using the code to get past the newly installed gate at the alleyway to the fire escape (Aziraphale had developed a sudden and serious concern for security only after Crowley had started spending the night more often). He could use the store entrance, only he’d become acquainted with the old hermit who sublet it from Aziraphale, Poyel, and decided he would rather avoid the judgement of doing so much as running his fingers along the spines of books. After finding his spare key and letting himself in through the back door, he froze stock still, positive he was suffering a stroke.</p><p>Did forty-two-year-olds have strokes? Surely, they must, as he very strongly believed he heard the hoover going. Considering that Aziraphale’s extent of ‘cleaning’ was directing his clutter to organized piles, there was a slim chance he was executing such maintenance. When Crowley first came around and started housekeeping for him, he’d been afraid that the dust bunnies of the flat would eat him alive. </p><p>“Angel?” he called out, and no voice called back.</p><p>Odd. What? Had some strange brand of house-cleaning criminal broken in and tied Aziraphale up? Crowley wandered in further, finding his boyfriend hoovering in the library, nose stuffed in a medical journal as he multitasked. Feeling a bit cheeky, Crowley snuck up behind him, inhaling his cologne deeply and doing his best not to melt right into him. Instead, he pressed his mouth against the back of Aziraphale’s neck and blew a raspberry.</p><p>For his part, Aziraphale nearly leapt out of his skin, yelping out and smacking his hand over the back of his neck while lunging back. He spun on his heel, letting out an exasperated huff. </p><p>“Anthony J. Crowley, you devil!” he scolded, only Crowley couldn’t care at the moment, and threw himself at his lover. His heart ached with relief as he buried his face into Aziraphale’s neck, wrapping his arms around the broad figure with the utmost happiness. </p><p>“That’s me,” he hummed with glee. </p><p>Aziraphale took a moment to catch up, pulling him close and nuzzling into red locks. His hand carded from the nape of Crowley’s neck into his hair, and he breathed him in before laying a kiss to his temple. </p><p>“Oh darling, I missed you ever so dearly,” he sighed, the honesty of it melting Crowley’s heart into goo, “But I thought you weren’t supposed to arrive until five thirty.” </p><p>Before answering, Crowley raised his head to fix his lover with a proper kiss. Tension flooded out of both bodies as their lips met. It was a passionate thing, but chaste and sweet. It lingered, slowly, scarce nips of lips and brushes of tongue. Butterflies burst through Crowley’s chest at it all. He’d never thought he’d have them after adolescence, but here they were fluttering with more fury than ever, brushing excitement against every bit of Crowley in their wake and rippling outward until he felt he could fly. That’s just the way it was, he supposed. That’s what Aziraphale did to him. </p><p>At last they pulled away, foreheads tipped together, and a wild, uncontainable smile crossed Crowley’s face as he brushed his hands reverently over Aziraphale’s cheeks.</p><p>“I think that trusty old pocket watch of yours must be broken, angel.” </p><p>Aziraphale gave him a curious look, leaning back to pull forth said watch and flip it open. A look of devastation crossed his face.</p><p>“Oh, darling… I’m so terribly sorry, I got news and started preparing and- oh, how <em> abominable </em>of me-,” he started fussing.</p><p>“Hey, it’s alright,” he hushed, pulling Aziraphale close before wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing soft kisses to a cheek, “I’m here now.”</p><p>Perhaps, a matter of days ago, Crowley might have been a brat about being forgotten. Pitched a fit or at the very least pouted, but after becoming so thoroughly relaxed, he detested the idea of causing any trouble for his ever-attentive lover, no matter how well he could handle it. It didn’t sound fun at the moment, and Crowley didn’t feel wronged or hurt or insecure at all. In fact, he was determined to be understanding. This was a sore spot for Aziraphale, forgetting a promise to his submissive, and as a nurse, Crowley felt urged to soothe the burn. </p><p>“It’s <em> not </em>alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, the pain audible in his voice and his brows knitted together, “I said I’d be there for you.” </p><p>“And you’re <em> here </em>for me, and the distance between the two was hardly notable. I’m a big tough grown-up. Been going on the Tube all by my lonesome for years now,” he attempted to coax, kissing the warm neck before him the way he knew his lover liked as his hands slid over the satin back of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He was strangely stiff. Of course it was typical for him to have impeccable posture, but this was different. There was a tension there. Crowley wondered if it had been there before his arrival, if he’d missed it in all the excitement. “You can make it up to me, if you’re determined.”</p><p>Aziraphale sighed, grasping his chin and kissing him with an equal measure of sweetness and softness, “I very much am, my darling.” </p><p>Crowley felt himself melt against the strong, soft body before him, kissing him again with a greedy urgency before parting and gazing deeply into pretty eyes that likened the sea. </p><p>“It feels like it’s been bloody ages,” he sighed. </p><p>At last, a soft smile crossed Aziraphale’s features. </p><p>“That it does. How do you feel, dear boy?”</p><p>“Not feeling particularly ‘boy’-ish today,” he countered, “but I feel amazing. So relaxed. Like I could take on the world.”</p><p>“My dear, then,” Aziraphale adjusted without a further minute’s hesitation, turning Crowley’s heart to butter at the consideration. While Crowley occasionally would lose or gain certain gendered nouns to describe himself, his pronouns remained stagnant. Still, his lover had not taken it as an excuse to ignore what difference there was, and after a bit of a discussion, he always took care to honor the shifts in Crowley’s gender identity. “I’m so happy to hear it, Crowley, and ever so proud of you for allowing yourself an escape, but I’m not sure about your taking on the world. Let’s take on London first and see how things progress, hmm?” </p><p>Crowley laughed, snatching one last greedy kiss before pulling away and taking the hoover from behind him. From what he could tell, he’d been vacuuming the same strip of rug again and again. Were it not already an old, tattered, antique thing, he would worry about it getting worn.</p><p>“Shall I finish this for you so you can read that?” </p><p>“No no no!” Aziraphale tutted, taking the hoover, unplugging it, and abandoning it towards the wall, away from Crowley, “First I forget to pick you up and now you assume I’m going to put you straight to work without giving you proper attention?” </p><p>“You seem to have your attention divided enough as is, ‘s’all,” Crowley shrugged, “In fact I’m wondering what sort of ‘news’ you got that possessed you to start hoovering. What, are we- <em> you </em> hosting the Queen?” </p><p>“‘We’, my dear,” Aziraphale hummed, teasingly wrapping his arm around Crowley and giving a handful of his arse an indulgent squeeze, “As if I would ever have Her Majesty without allowing you to cook for her.” </p><p>A laugh poured out of Crowley as easy as a breath, and he smooched Aziraphale’s cheek with overpouring affection, drawing loving smiles from his Dominant, “Oh yes. Bet she’d ask me onto her service. <em> That’s </em>not a gig I could pass up.” </p><p>“You see? I look out for you, darling,” Aziraphale playfully purred, indulging in one last kiss before pulling Crowley towards the kitchen and fussing over his wet clothing. The redhead earned a fair bit of gentle scolding for forgetting his umbrella and couldn’t help but smile fondly. His eyes turned soft as his sunglasses were gently removed and his damp jumper pulled over his head. He’d missed Aziraphale. He’d missed being loved and doted on. </p><p>Very loved he was, but as he attempted to hold a conversation retelling the more interesting points of his retreat, the attention he received was far from proper ‘doting’ levels.</p><p>That underlying tension was still there in Aziraphale’s shoulders, Crowley debated giving him a good, thorough, luxurious massage, or perhaps dropping to his knees and sucking him off for the first time in weeks. Either way, he was hopeful it would push all the stress straight out of him. Then he saw his eyes flickering about the space, shifting around to start a task mid-sentence before fleeting to another and then fawning over his partner when he realized he’d started ignoring Crowley again. It was a vicious cycle. He’d stopped halfway through ordering their dinner twice now, getting distracted and tending to whatever task with some mysterious urgency.</p><p>Then, all at once, Crowley realized that what he was seeing was anxiety- from <em> Aziraphale.  </em></p><p>It was entirely foreign. </p><p>Sure, he’d seen him upset. Worried. Stressed. Angry. </p><p>Never anxious. </p><p>“So what’s the news, love?” he asked at last, after Aziraphale had asked him about his morning meditation and then promptly sat down, pushed tea into Crowley’s hands, and became consumed by a valiant attempt to read two medical journals at once, distracted from any answer Crowley could possibly give.</p><p>It took the doctor a moment to realize he was being spoken to, raising his head. </p><p>“Sorry, my dear. What was that?” </p><p>“The news,” Crowley said, “What is it? Asked to host a seminar at a medical conference or something?” </p><p>“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Aziraphale said, frustratedly staring at the articles as if they were in hieroglyphics.</p><p>“Glasses, angel.”</p><p>“Ah, yes,” the angel responded, leaning back and, upon realizing he was unable to read and his glasses were abandoned in the library, resigning himself to actually <em> speaking </em>to Crowley. A nervous smile twisted onto his face, as if he thought it would be appropriate to be happy. “Dr. Geller will be in town tomorrow!”</p><p>“Oh,” Crowley remarked with a frown. Dr. Geller, or ‘Dr. Geezer’, as Crowley liked to call him. Aziraphale’s medical mentor and a friend of his late grandfather, Levi. From what Crowley had deduced, Dr. Geller was one of the foremost culprits of pushing Aziraphale towards goals he’d never had to begin with. Aziraphale’s attachment seemed more due to the extension of Dr. Geller as a survival of his grandfather, who he had loved very dearly and inherited his passion for literature, religious devotion, and wardrobe from. </p><p>While Crowley would have liked to pretend to be pleased, he was a bit too outspoken for social courtesy. So instead he sounded a snort. </p><p>“What does he want?” </p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded, looking a bit put out, “You haven’t even met him. There’s no need for that tone.”</p><p>Crowley bristled, wishing he had food in front of him to concentrate on. He opted to pull out his mobile and order it himself, mumbling as he went, “Not even if he has a dedicated investment in obsessively pushing you past your limits?”</p><p>“Well, he’s always been my mentor, darling, of course he <em> pushed </em>me. He pushed me to Oxford, to get the residency at Bedford Trust, to become one of the leading A&amp;E Physicians at St. Cosmas.” </p><p>“Where he lorded over you as president of the hospital and tried to bully you out of the methodology that got you hired as <em> Chief </em>at Celestial Harmonies.”</p><p>Aziraphale sounded a put-upon sigh, fixing him with a look. </p><p>“Yes, well, just because I’ve no need for him as a mentor any longer doesn’t change the fact that he’s an old family friend. Besides, I was rather hoping to show him all my accomplishments here. I care about his opinion, darling.” </p><p>Crowley’s golden eyes shot up from the screen of his mobile. </p><p>“Show him… as in he’s coming to work?” </p><p>“Yes, he’ll be shadowing for the latter half of the shift, and I’m taking him to dinner afterwards,” he explained, taking a sip of his tea before twisting it in his hands. In a rare turn of events, he didn’t meet Crowley’s eyeline, “I’d very much like for you to join us.” </p><p>Ugh. Crowley <em> really </em> didn’t want to spend his dinner with a cranky old doctor, but what Aziraphale requested of him, he got. Still, he was always bad at knowing when to stop asking <em> questions </em>and had been very lucky to find a partner who was patient enough to tolerate them. </p><p>“How come?” he asked, annoyed at his own petulance. </p><p>“Well,” Aziraphale started, giving him a shy smile, “I’d say of all the good things that have happened to me since arriving in London, you’re highest among them. I’ve not had a chance to introduce you to anyone important in my life. I suppose I- I’m a bit impatient to show you off.” </p><p>“Oh,” Crowley sighed, his heart warming. Aziraphale wanted him to come as his partner. To tie him in with his old life and have him known as a permanent fixture. “Right. Sorry. Of course I’ll come, angel. Is that what’s making you anxious? You’re worried I’ll embarrass you?” </p><p>“Oh don’t be ridiculous, Crowley. I would never ask you to pretend to be anything other than who you are,” his angel gently chastised, reaching across the table to grasp his hand. Crowley eagerly intertwined their fingers, feeling overwhelmingly touched by the honest sentiment. Aziraphale’s expression was somewhat hesitant, the anxiety held in shoulders that typically sloped with relaxation. “I simply… well, I suppose I’m hoping to make him proud.”</p><p>Crowley’s expression softened, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s face. He supposed he understood the impulse a bit. After all, he still called his old case worker whenever there were exciting progressions in his life, aiming to make the only guardian figure in his life proud. Aziraphale had become the target of those desires to please and impress, now. </p><p>“He will be, Aziraphale,” he sighed, shuffling his chair closer to brush his fingers against Aziraphale’s cheek, “You’ve worked so hard for so long, it’s high time you get to reap the rewards and bask in your accomplishments.” </p><p>An emotional smile greeted him, and Aziraphale caught his wrist, turning his head to lay a reverent kiss on Crowley’s palm. “I hope you’re right, dear heart.”</p><p>“‘Course I am. I’m always right, don’t you know?” Crowley teased, getting a smirk and an eye roll for his trouble, “Is he arriving tonight? Is that why you’re panicking?”</p><p>“Yes but- he’s not staying <em> here. </em>I won’t see him until tomorrow afternoon.”</p><p>Crowley fixed him with a blank expression. Aziraphale fidgeted.</p><p>“Then… why all the cleaning?” </p><p>“Oh, the anticipation of it all is making me a bit restless, I suppose, and I <em> know </em>he’ll want to discuss the latest issues of this medical journal.” </p><p>A huff of air was exhaled sharply through Crowley’s nostrils in place of a laugh. He didn’t particularly like the idea of Aziraphale feeling the pressure to overachieve when he already went to great lengths to uphold the best levels of care for his patients. It was strange to see him indulging busy work, but it didn’t need to be explained. Crowley was very familiar with the urge to clean, fueled by anxiety. His therapist had explained it was a need to control the environment. Luckily, Crowley was much more eager to be controlled than inanimate objects were. </p><p>“Well,” Crowley stood, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead and pushing his hand through white curls, “How about I lock you in the library with your journals and a glass of red wine, clean up a bit, bake you something sweet, and I’ll come fetch you as soon as the food arrives?” </p><p>The tides in Aziraphale’s ocean-colored eyes went gentle, lapping softly forward.</p><p>“Darling, you’ve just gotten home, and I can hardly neglect you. You deserve some attention.” </p><p>Crowley couldn’t help but laugh at that, despite the frown it drew on his lover’s face.</p><p>“Angel, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but your attention span is a bit compromised at the moment. So much so that you’ve forgotten I’ve already said so. You just focus on your reading and after you see Dr. Gee- Geller tomorrow you can spoil me senseless.”</p><p>Aziraphale didn’t look too convinced and frowned at the table. Crowley took his chin and tipped it up to look at him. </p><p>“Hey, I’m back to baseline and I’m doing <em> good. </em>You’ve taken such good care of me these last few weeks. Been so patient and kind, my benevolent ruler,” he cooed. Truly, he did love to treat his partner like a king, especially when he was spoiled like a prince in turn. “Take some time for yourself, and let me do nice things for you. You’ve earned it.”</p><p>“But I’ve taken all weekend for myself!”</p><p>“Don’t act like you weren’t entertaining the old ladies from synagogue all weekend. You can take one day more, yeah?” Crowley persuaded. </p><p>Aziraphale huffed, relenting at last. He raised to his feet and wrapped his arms around Crowley, squeezing him tightly before pressing a smooch to his cheek. </p><p>“Alright, you wicked little tempter. But come Wednesday you’re getting a full day’s worth of attention and spoiling.” </p><p>A grin bloomed on Crowley’s face, “You’ll hear no opposition from me.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * * </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale always woke Crowley in a manner so gentle and sweet he felt like a bloody storybook princess. There’d be a soft rain of kisses on his face, massaging fingers carding through his hair, and a whispered “Good morning, my sweet darling. Don’t you look as lovely as ever, today?” mumbled against his cheekbone as mindful hands crept under the covers and caressed over his sleep-warm skin. On the occasions he woke up with his cock half hard in the cloth prison of his pants, Aziraphale would often tend to that too. Either way, he’d sit up, finding the black house slippers his angel had gotten him already arranged on the floor beside the bed so his feet wouldn’t need to touch the floor for a single moment. On especially cold mornings, he’d be bullied into a cozy robe before he was herded to the bathroom where hot water would always be waiting for him. Aziraphale showered in the evening specifically so this would be the case for Crowley in the mornings. </p><p>So naturally, it was a bit jarring to awake to the covers being ripped away, exposing his body to the rush of cold air. Perhaps it wasn’t freezing, after all, it was May now, but Crowley did run rather cold as a rule and thus it was Hell to wake up to. A loud, disoriented groan slipped out of his mouth and in response he got a gentle swat to the bottom. He curled up in a tight ball to retain his warmth and reached to find the blankets. </p><p>“No you don’t. Come on, love. Up you get.” </p><p>Crowley raised his head, blinking blearily and finding the sky outside dark.</p><p>“You bastard! You hate me!” </p><p>“Don’t be dramatic, Anthony. Honestly. We have to stop by your flat before work.” </p><p>Crowley frowned. He hated when Aziraphale used his first name outside of sweet moments, laced with praise. </p><p>“Nooooo,” he whined, shoving his face back into the pillow, “I brought scrubs with me.” </p><p>“We’re having dinner after work, remember? You’re not going to Gauthier Soho in scrubs. You need to get up now if you’re to shower, eat, get a change of clothes from your flat, and do your yoga routine before work.” </p><p>“Sod yoga, I’ll skive off,” Crowley mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow-case. By some miracle, Aziraphale understood him. </p><p>“We don’t skip days. You know that,” Aziraphale asserted, “Especially not today. There’s a marked difference in your anxiety on the days you neglect it and I anticipate you’ll be anxious enough as it is.” </p><p>He was right. Of course he was right. Meeting someone whose opinion Aziraphale treated as gospel was nothing to sneeze at, and it certainly wasn’t a day to neglect his mental health upkeep regiment. But ever so slowly, Crowley was believing the daily reminders that he was loved and wanted, especially after Aziraphale had unwaveringly accompanied him through his down-swing. The security made it easier to relax. In this case, it meant he wasn’t worried that even making a terrible impression would end their relationship. It’s not like he was meeting Raphael or Gweneviere or Aziraphale’s parents.</p><p>And so Crowley defiantly rolled to the further side of the bed, snatching the covers and pulling them over his head. He heard Aziraphale huff in disapproval. </p><p>“Are you feeling more ‘boy’-ish than yesterday?” </p><p>Some strangled noise that roughly translated as, “why yes I am, thank you for being considerate enough to ask, but also kindly fuck off, I’m sleeping,” emerged from Crowley, his face remaining thoroughly lodged into the cushion of his pillow. Luckily Aziraphale was fluent in Crowley by now, as he couldn’t possibly take care of him if he didn’t have a complete understanding of him. </p><p>“Alright, then be a good boy for me and get out of bed.” </p><p>Crowley knew he had a choice here. He could be a brat, suffer Aziraphale’s brat-taming, and have an upsetting morning full of pouting while his angel pointedly <em> ignored </em> said pouting, or he could listen and get some sweet kisses and praise. Still, while the latter sounded <em> very </em>nice, his sleep-addled brain longed to lie there on Aziraphale’s side of the bed, inhaling his scent off his pillow and pulling the covers higher over his head. A long whine of reluctance escaped him. </p><p>“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice warned, “behave.” </p><p>“What if I don’t?” Crowley pouted. </p><p>“I believe you’re fully aware of what happens when you’re naughty compared to what happens when you’re good for me. I had every intention of making Wednesday very lovely for you, as we discussed, I even thought I might take you to the botanical gardens. I do hope you won’t spoil it by insisting we stay home so I might discipline you, instead.”  </p><p>With a huff, Crowley pushed himself to a sitting position, blearily squinting at his partner, who was already fully dressed, hair set with an uncomfortably abnormal tidiness, the curl all but brushed out of it. He was wearing clothing Crowley hadn’t even been aware he owned despite managing his laundry for months: a fresh, modern pair of dark trousers, sans waistcoat, and a standard tie in place of his bowtie. It was unsettling just to look at, and Crowley might have picked on him for it if he wasn’t very evidently addled with nerves. It seemed there would be no morning swim for Aziraphale, today, a phenomenon in itself. </p><p>“Thank you,” he remarked tartly before disappearing out the bedroom door. No morning kisses, no warm house robe, no gentle prodding towards the shower or teasing over his bedhead. </p><p>Crowley pouted, anticipating the great desire to punch Dr. Geller in his stupid old face the moment they met. Instead of going to shower, he followed after Aziraphale, who had scrambled off to the library and was currently battling through stacks of journals, notes, and paperwork, searching for Satan-knew-what to shove into his briefcase. Seeing him this anxious was eating away at Crowley with much more damage than he might have expected. </p><p>It made a certain sense, Aziraphale was always calm and rational. Always the rope that kept Crowley tethered to earth. The rock that grounded him. Very often the factor that convinced his own loud anxiety and panic and paranoia to shut it and shove off. Seeing him so worked up was unsettling, to say the least. It made Crowley’s illness, that had been so neatly tucked away and coaxed into silence from his yoga retreat, noisily insist that if Aziraphale was panicking, there <em> must </em> be a <em> very </em>good reason for Crowley to do so as well. His heart hammered in his ears, his fingers reached to fiddle with anything he could get his hands on. </p><p>“Love-,” he said in a hushed tone, reaching his hand out to take Aziraphale’s arm. </p><p>His angel jumped, and then looked at Crowley with an expression of such contempt it took a moment for his mind to translate that his ever-patient partner was actually <em> glaring </em>at him. As if he was a petulant child who wouldn’t stay in time-out. Some great, obnoxious inconvenience with tiresome issues Aziraphale didn’t have the time nor energy to deal with. It was a look that Crowley was absolutely sure, even in his ugliest moments, he had never once been on the receiving end of. </p><p>“Honestly, Anthony! Would you just do as you’re told for one bloody day?” Aziraphale snapped. </p><p>Tears immediately sprang to Crowley’s eyes, anxiety flooded his stomach, and he stepped back as Aziraphale shoved his nose back into his task. The slender figure wrapped his arms around himself. He nearly turned and cowered away, ducking his head and submitting to his instructions, but he listened to Aziraphale only because he <em> wanted </em>to. Right now, he did not want to. The whole point of obeying Aziraphale’s instructions and rules was that they were meant to benefit him. They were for his well being. They were to ensure his needs were tended to. They were acts of Aziraphale caring for him and watching out for him. This wasn’t that. </p><p>The angel was typically a wonderful role model, whose behavior was considerate, kind, calm, and measured- everything Crowley aspired to. Everything that made him feel safe and secure enough to let his own anxiety fade away. This didn’t fit the bill for that either. This was an unfeeling brush off, a demand for obedience specifically so Aziraphale <em> didn’t </em> have to deal with him. A lashing out because in a rare turn of events, he <em> couldn’t </em>handle his own emotions.</p><p>It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t loving, and it wasn’t what Crowley had agreed to. Crowley thought back to an important conversation with his therapist about the importance of advocating for himself, even when it made him nervous or afraid to do it, especially in such a relationship dynamic where his power was all but surrendered. He deserved to be heard. </p><p>His voice was small, but he found it.  </p><p>“Just because you’re anxious doesn’t mean you can be an arse to me, Aziraphale. You would never let me get away with that and you know it.” </p><p>Aziraphale looked up at him, startled, and Crowley fought not to give in and coddle him as guilt took over his expression. Several moments of silence passed as Aziraphale struggled to find words to give him. </p><p>“Oh- oh, Anthony... you’re absolutely right. I <em> am </em>being an arse and it’s unacceptable,” he sighed. </p><p>He turned towards his partner, reaching for Crowley’s fingers with such caution it was like he was approaching a frightened animal. He gave him every chance to pull away. Crowley didn’t, and Aziraphale stepped closer, bringing a hand to Crowley’s waist. He fussed with red locks in a futile attempt to right them, slowly allowing his gaze to fall and meet eager amber eyes.</p><p>“I suppose I- I’m not accustomed to feeling so out of sorts, and I’m floundering a bit, attempting to scrape it all back together. It’s not fair for me to treat the one person I can always rely on so poorly; I can’t believe I was so irreverent towards your well-being just now. That must have come as such an atrocious shock. I don’t expect you to forgive me, in fact I’d imagine you’re feeling rather wronged and wounded, but please allow me to attempt to make it up to you? Clearly, the anxiety of this situation is turning me into a monster, and I’ll cancel the entire affair if it should bring you comfort.” </p><p>It was sincere, of course it was. Aziraphale’s sea-colored eyes were wet with hurt and guilt. He truly would forget this whole event, no matter how important it was to him, just to correct his transgressions. While Crowley knew he loved him and wanted him, he would be lying to say he was aware that he was held to that level of importance in Aziraphale’s heart. His heart radiated a warm glow at the new knowledge. He felt just a bit more loved. Just a smidge more wanted. </p><p>“Of course I forgive you,” he said quietly, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand and smiling softly, “You may be an angel to me, but that doesn’t mean I expect you to be perfect at all times, always. After all, I know a thing or two about anxiety turning a perfectly fine person into a bit of a prat. Do you want a Xanax? Half, maybe?” </p><p>Aziraphale shook his head, attempted a very unconvincing smile, and <em> finally </em>kissed him. The action allowed Crowley to release the anxiety he’d been holding tight in his shoulders with a wistful sigh. He melted into his lover's soft, strong body, until Aziraphale pulled away, kissing the tip of his nose. </p><p>“You’re more understanding than I deserve, darling,” he whispered, “and I don’t think so, I’m not sure how it affects me and I wouldn’t like to chance being unable to tend to my duties safely.”</p><p>Crowley nodded, straightening the tie that looked so bizarre on his partner. He was worried. He wanted to do anything he could to ease Aziraphale out of the uncharacteristic, unpleasant state of emotion he was suffering. It made him anxious, seeing his guardian like this, and he somehow felt responsible. The impulse to fuss possessed him. </p><p>“Maybe you could do chamomile instead of breakfast tea this morning? And it might take a bit of fighting my hair but I can survive the day without a shower so I can make you a proper breakfast, I’ll just need to cut my sun salutations a bit short but I’m sure the sun won’t mind. Food always helps settle your mood, and that way you can read a book you actually <em> want </em>to read and unwind a bit or maybe we could even have time to rush by the pool so you could do a few laps or-”</p><p>As Crowley’s nervous rambling went on, an incredibly self-punishing look dawned on Aziraphale’s face, and he pressed his thumb gently to Crowley’s lips. </p><p>“Please don’t fuss on my account, darling. I didn’t mean to lose my composure. Everything is fine, I promise. I’ve everything under control. You don’t need to worry about a thing,” he reassured Crowley, “So pop along quickly now, and we can stop and get those breakfast pies from that cafe you like.” </p><p>As a general rule, Crowley was perceptive. He noticed details others might overlook. He took painstaking care in executing both his acts of mischief and his acts of care. Over the seven month course of their relationship, he’d learned how to analyze Aziraphale. There was no joy, tension, or worry that went unnoticed. When Aziraphale was relaxed, he knew it was alright to relax, too. When Aziraphale was worried, he would reflect that as well, allowing his nerves to run amok. Crowley’s little anxiety outburst seemed to remind his guardian of this, and, to Crowley’s great relief, grounded him in a way that appeared quite genuine. </p><p>The rest of the morning lacked the rush and anxiousness with which he’d been woken. Aziraphale didn’t so much as act aggrieved when he dithered between outfits at his flat, and even humored Crowley’s flirty attempts at annoying him by asking him which shirt went better with his eyes, ever patient of Crowley’s petulance. He disarmed the wicked redhead greatly by responding to a threat of wearing a skirt to dinner by lodging him with hungry eyes, a bastard grin, and a hum of, “they <em> do </em>compliment your legs something incredible.” </p><p>They stopped at the bakery Crowley liked for breakfast, where Aziraphale very generously insisted they grab coffee and pastries for everyone on shift. With his head screwed back on quite well and both their spirits high, the first half of the workday was about as smooth as a chocolate silk pie. </p><p>Then <em> he </em>showed up.</p><p>Crowley had nothing against old people in general. In fact, they seemed to find him very charming, in most cases. He had a delightful relationship with his next door neighbor, and worked her into his grocery shopping route on Friday mornings when he would restock Aziraphale and Beatrix’s meals for the week (much to his delight, Beatrix had rejected Gabriel’s meals and opted for Crowley’s food prep, which was much more on brand. It was nice to still be needed and preferred by them, even if for something so menial). But the moment he set eyes on Dr. Geezer’s wrinkly old face, he wanted to pull it right off. </p><p>Looked like bloody puddy, it did. Couldn’t be too hard. </p><p>Dr. Geller followed Aziraphale around, looking disapproving of everything he saw. While Dr. Fell had taken to being such a chatterbox the nurses asked Crowley if he’d perhaps experimented with amphetamines that particular morning, Dr. Geller was as quiet and solemn as a mortician. Well, notably more so, really; in Crowley’s many years of friendship with Faust, he’d never been so silent. </p><p>The nerves were back full force, Crowley saw the tension held once more in Aziraphale’s shoulders. A bad feeling churned in his gut. A premonition, Anathema might say.</p><p>“Whossat?” </p><p>“Hm?” Crowley turned his gaze to Adam, who’d kicked his chair to wheel invasively close. </p><p>“Y’know, the old bloke. Whossat, then?”</p><p>“A harbinger of doom,” he deadpanned, returning to his data entry. </p><p>“Didn’ know harbingers of doom could <em> be </em> doctors,” Adam quipped.</p><p>“Yeah, well, y’know, it’s an equal opportunity workforce these days,” Crowley snorted back. Perhaps once he might have barked at Adam to get back to work, but the kid was a natural leader and had quickly risen to be one of Crowley’s most dependable nurses. He had his shit down.</p><p>As the end of shift drew near, Winger called for Crowley’s aid in a trauma intake. It took nearly an hour to stabilize the poor patient before he could be sent off to surgery, meaning Crowley wouldn’t be able to squeeze in a pep talk with Beatrix before the dinner he’d nearly forgotten. The moment he recalled it, he grabbed his duffel and rushed to the lav to change, guilt chewing away at his stomach. It was thirty minutes past the end of his shift, and they would have to rush to make their reservations. Fuck, and after Aziraphale had been so good and patient with him all morning after their little disagreement. Anxiety fueled the process, and Crowley popped half a Xanax as he rushed towards the car park, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that Aziraphale wasn’t disappointed. </p><p>He rushed out the doors, panting from his run towards them (and Satan, he hadn’t been one for running even two decades younger) and frantically searching for his partner.</p><p>“Ah, here he is!” that calm, grounded voice rang out.</p><p>He turned, finding Aziraphale tucked away near the wall waiting for him, Dr. Geller beside him with a look of irritation on his face. </p><p>“Sorry, angel, I got caught up with a-” </p><p>“A trauma intake, I know. There couldn’t be a better reason, dear boy. No need to worry,” Aziraphale soothed with that smile that always melted Crowley’s worries away. </p><p>Crowley came close, taking his hand with his left and turning to offer his right to Dr. Geller. </p><p>“Anthony J. Crowley, heard a lot about you,” he greeted.</p><p>The man frowned, giving Crowley a scrutinizing look up and down and turning back to Aziraphale, “wasn’t he one of the nurses on your floor?” </p><p>“Yes, our Head Nurse, actually, he’s marvelous at his job, I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Aziraphale praised, and warmth took root in Crowley’s chest, spreading outwards as a wild grin spread on his face, “and he’s an even better partner.” </p><p>The extended hand remained unshaken, and so, finding himself quite funny, Crowley pulled the move he’d seen in old movies and lifted it to push back his hair. </p><p>“That’s me. Marvelous nurse. Bang-up boyfriend.”</p><p>Dr. Geller didn’t look half as amused, “It’s hardly professional to mix business with pleasure.” </p><p>“Well, that point’s a bit moot, I’d say,” Crowley jested with his most charming smirk. </p><p>The old man appeared unaffected, and took a deep, bracing breath that seemed a bit dramatic, even by Crowley’s standards, before turning back to Aziraphale. </p><p>“Should we pop along?”</p><p>“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale agreed.</p><p>As they approached Crowley’s car, he felt quite as if he was staring down the gates of Hell, but perhaps<em> that </em> was a bit dramatic, too. He’d gotten through worse before. He could put up with a bit of bullshit for Aziraphale’s sake. </p><p>The drive to the restaurant was filled with chatter about the most recent medical discoveries as outlined in the journal Aziraphale had been fussing over the night before. Crowley did his best to contribute without having read the articles but understanding the medical concepts, quickly discovering that Dr. Geller seemed to find him unqualified for the discussion and would gloss over his contributions. Luckily, Aziraphale advocated for him, thoroughly ensuring his points were acknowledged, and Crowley felt a bit better knowing that no matter how sincerely Aziraphale cared for his mentor’s good opinion, it would not come at the cost of his partner’s maltreatment. </p><p>The old geezer quickly proved hellbent on complaining about everything. Parking. The restaurant. The wine list. Crowley’s choice to wear sunglasses. Crowley’s face tattoo. Crowley being a gentile (and an <em> agnostic </em>one at that). Crowley’s disinterest in pursuing further education. Crowley. Crowley. Crowley. </p><p>Which was all rather irritating, but nothing Crowley couldn’t handle. The thing about growing up without any allegiances or specific values was that he’d gotten used to not quite fitting in with any group other than anarchists. This was far from the first time he’d been accused of being dead weight holding a friend or partner back. Aziraphale seemed to decide that each thinly veiled insult should be met with a barrage of persistent praise in Crowley’s defense, and Crowley didn’t mind the show, finding it very sweet and fortifying, indeed.</p><p>It wasn’t until the complaints and unwelcome advice over Aziraphale’s job started up that an issue arose. Aziraphale had a more difficult time responding to the kibitzing (a term Crowley had learned upon his partner’s return from Passover), showing increasing interest in the menu and sounding odd little ill-formed grunts of general agreement that were uncharacteristic of the well-spoken man. </p><p>“At least you’ll be moving on soon enough,” Geller huffed at last, and before Aziraphale bothered to entertain his mentor, he looked to Crowley to discourage the anxiety he must have psychically deduced he would find there. With a gentle smile and a shake of his head, the surge of paranoid thoughts convincing Crowley that Aziraphale was secretly planning an escape subsided, and Crowley fell back into his sprawl, greatly relieved and urging himself to get it together. As if Aziraphale would ever entertain moving away without telling him. </p><p>“I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve only been in London a year.”</p><p>A year. Crowley’s heart fluttered. He couldn’t believe it had been a year since Aziraphale had walked into his life and flipped it upside down. Evidently, Geller was not so moved by the sentiment, and frowned. </p><p>“Well, you certainly aren’t planning on staying where you are? If you feel stuck, I’d be happy to give you advice on how to emerge into leadership in the private field, or to set up meetings with friends in the arena.” </p><p>“I- no, I was planning on staying here at least for the foreseeable future. I was only just hired on as Chief.” </p><p>The frown deepened. </p><p>“Well, you must get your floor under control. Your nurses spend far too much time with patients.” </p><p>“On the <em> contrary,” </em>Crowley couldn’t help but spit with a sneer (perhaps he hadn’t cared much when the criticism was lodged against himself, but a vicious instinct rushed to life to defend his beloved partner), “Aziraphale was chosen as Chief because of his patient-focused methodology. Ensuring our patients comfort and not rushing them out the door has statistically improved the accuracy of diagnoses and decreased the number of return visits.”</p><p>Geller scoffed, “If Celestial Harmonies finds it necessary to <em> move in </em> patients in order to give an accurate diagnosis, it’s simply proof that Aziraphale is in an environment of doctors that are far beneath his capabilities and will not foster his growth. If patients wish to have a smile with their service, they can pay to visit a private hospital. It’s not your job to coddle them.” </p><p>“That’s not what I believe,” Aziraphale argued in a low, nervous voice, and Crowley couldn’t help but be immaculately proud of him for advocating for himself, “Everyone deserves decent care. Everyone deserves health and help.” </p><p>“Things you are more than capable of providing without befriending every patient that comes through your doors. I don’t <em> understand </em> Aziraphale. You’re wasting your talents here. Why ask me to visit if aid in moving upward and outward was not your purpose?” </p><p>Aziraphale worried his hands in his lap, looking so impossibly <em> small. </em></p><p>“I… I had rather thought- or <em> hoped </em>at least, that you might be proud of what I’ve accomplished on my own.” </p><p>Geller had the nerve to actually <em> scoff, </em>and Crowley could pinpoint the exact moment Aziraphale’s heart shattered just by looking at his beautiful face. His blood began to boil, and he gripped his fork in his hand, weighing the benefits and consequences of plunging it into a certain prig’s eye. </p><p><em> “Proud </em> of you? For running the A&amp;E of a filthy public hospital in the slums of London and allowing yourself to be placated into less than you can achieve by some- some <em> tossed away miscreant?” </em>he implored. </p><p>Crowley opened his mouth to let foul words pour out, but Aziraphale beat him to it, squaring his shoulders and protectively reaching out to grasp his slender fingers while looking directly at Dr. Geller with a sudden confidence.</p><p>“Crowley is <em> no </em>such thing and I will not stand any slander against him.” </p><p>The nurse’s heart melted in his chest. He only wished his partner could defend himself in such a way. That was alright, he’d been given the mouth of a hellion and a disrespect for any authority other than Aziraphale’s for a reason, and the perfect time to employ them was fast approaching.</p><p>“You’ve gone soft, Aziraphale. You could have really <em> been </em> someone in this field and now you’ve just- just <em> given up?” </em>Geller diminished. </p><p>“I’ve not given up,” Aziraphale argued weakly, his voice wavering and his stormy blue eyes downcast. Crowley was furious at the two feet that hung between them, stopping him from slithering up to his lover’s side. “I’ve simply decided to prioritize other matters besides endlessly grinding up the ladder when I’m quite content with my current position. I’m- I’m very happy with my life. Perhaps happier than I’ve ever been, and I want to <em> experience </em> it. I want to read the books I’ve spent years collecting. I want to enjoy the food I eat without worrying about finishing it before the next patient is wheeled in the door. I want to spend time with my friends without the danger of being paged in. I want to be able to travel with my boyfriend without the risk of my professional life falling apart behind me. I want to- to slow down. To take a moment and look around and <em> cherish </em>what I have instead of fretting over what I don’t.” </p><p>Crowley’s heart warmed at the sentiment, and he squeezed Aziraphale’s fingers. His lover deserved those things- more than anyone Crowley had ever met. Dr. Geller tutted, having the absolute <em> nerve </em>to sound a disappointed sigh.</p><p>“What would Levi think of you now?”</p><p>Aziraphale’s face twisted in anguish at the suggestion that his grandfather might be disappointed, were he still alive, and the last second ticked away on the time-bomb that was Crowley’s temper. </p><p>“Oh, sod off, you manipulative old git!” Crowley snarled, gaining the attention of several nearby tables.</p><p>“Crowley-,” Aziraphale started weakly. </p><p>“No! He needs to be put off from this rubbish!” Crowley snapped, turning back to Geller to growl, “Levi didn’t give a shit about medicine past its good for mankind and you <em> know </em> that. He cared about literature and faith and goodness and <em> family. </em> His grandson keeps <em> every </em> Sabbath and goes to synagogue <em> every </em> week. He spends <em> every </em> day of <em> every </em> holiday with his family or doing charity work. He’s continued on his grandfather’s book collection and donates children's books to shelters and checks in on his mum and dad nearly <em> every </em> day! He’s generous and appreciative and loving and kind and it’s a load of bloody bollocks to suggest Levi would be anything but <em> incredibly </em> proud of the man Aziraphale chooses to be every fucking day. Who the fuck do you think you are to suggest otherwise? What? You’re so bloody unfulfilled in your own life you need to shove all your failed hopes and dreams down Aziraphale’s throat? You’re so desperate for some catharsis you’d bastardize the memory of the dead- a man you claim to have been your <em> friend- </em> to meet your own sorry ends? I hope you’re <em> haunted </em> by it for the ideally <em> very short </em>remainder of your miserable, lonely, pathetic life you fucking melting-house-of-wax-faced waste of oxygen!” </p><p>Dr. Geller scoffed, “Aren’t you an abominable little wretch? I shan’t be spoken to that way by some low-life with a face tattoo pretending that involvement with a doctor makes him somebody! Don’t you understand? You’re <em> ruining </em>his life!”</p><p><em> “Brilliant!” </em> Crowley snapped back, reaching for his glass of water.</p><p>Aziraphale seemed to anticipate the move, grasping his hand and flashing him a put-upon look that said, ‘You’ve been watching far too much reality television,’ before gently murmuring, “Darling. Please go outside and settle down. I’ll be out soon.” </p><p>“But he-” </p><p>“Crowley. It’s handled.” </p><p>With a long look and a frustrated glare, Crowley huffed at last, kicking out his chair and storming out of the restaurant. He was so heated that he couldn’t even be bothered by the cold wind, couldn’t recall that he’d left his jacket inside. So angry his flesh forgot its own obnoxious, life-long threat to freeze off his body at temperatures lower than 10 degrees. It’d been years since he’d been this angry. Not since Beatrix’s divorce had he been reduced to trembling with fury on the behalf of someone he loved so dearly. He paced back and forth on the walk, bumming a cigarette off a bloke meandering nearby in a moment of weakness. </p><p>It had been almost a year since he’d smoked. He’d weaned himself off using patches and gum starting the night Aziraphale had plucked the cigarette carton from his hand and chucked it in the bin with no short amount of cheek. As the man held out his lighter for Crowley to light up the cigarette, he stopped, pulling the thing out of his mouth and giving it a long look. Aziraphale wouldn’t want him to smoke. Perhaps, right now, he wouldn’t stop him. He wouldn’t tell him to put it out or throw it away. He wouldn’t even give it a second glance, but that wasn’t the point, was it? </p><p>He was feeling weak, put down, powerless. How cruel would it be for Crowley to disrespect his rules (the ones he had <em> asked </em> Aziraphale to set for him)? To add insult to injury? To prioritize his fleeting anger over Aziraphale’s deep heartache? Crowley didn’t need the threat of punishment or the promise of praise to respect Aziraphale’s authority, to treat himself kindly and with care. He could be good for Aziraphale. He could be good because he loved him and respected him, because Aziraphale took better care of him than he’d ever hoped or dreamed anyone could, because he <em> wanted </em>to be good, if it brought Aziraphale solace. </p><p>“I’ll- I’ll keep it for later, actually. Ta,” he murmured. The bloke shrugged, wandering off, and Crowley threw the cigarette in the nearest bin. </p><p>Not soon after, Geller left the restaurant, spitting something Crowley assumed to be insulting at him in Yiddish, and they exchanged dirty looks before the old geezer marched off. </p><p>Good. Let him take the tube. The great prig would likely be scarred for life. </p><p>As Crowley waited, he wanted to throw a tantrum. He wanted to yap Aziraphale’s ear off over the pompous ass who had insulted him. More than either of those things, he wanted to behave. To be rational. To ignore his impulses for once in his bloody life and give his guardian the much-needed reprieve of <em> respect. </em></p><p>Crowley ignored the anxious churning of his gut that worked itself into a frenzy after the heat of confrontation. Without much hesitation, he popped the other half of the Xanax, wishing he’d had the foresight to take the whole dose before all this rubbish. Relief and heartache consumed him in equal measure when Aziraphale emerged from the restaurant at long last. Without his bright eyes or sunny smile, he looked properly middle-aged. Crowley had never seen him look so pale. So tired. So defeated. </p><p>It was enough to break his heart. </p><p>The doctor held up Crowley’s jacket, and Crowley silently complied, allowing Aziraphale to slide it onto him and pull him close to fasten the buttons. The devoted act of care and love despite his own pain was enough to coax Crowley’s angry heart into something calmer. The redhead couldn’t help but gaze into those sad, downcast, watery ocean eyes, and raised his spindly hands to gently cup Aziraphale’s face. Fussing hands came to a halt, slowly wrapping around a slender waist and pulling Crowley close. </p><p>They shared a soft, solemn kiss, and Aziraphale sighed into it, closing his damp eyes and resting their foreheads together.</p><p>“Home?” Crowley asked softly. </p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes remained lidded for a long moment, and when he opened them, they were filled with a soft affection and tears. He turned his head, laying a reverent kiss to his lover’s palm before nodding.</p><p>“Home.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Excuse any typos (or feel free to DM me to point them out), I'm riding the high of an amazing job offer in my dream industry and had to get this out to you guys! </p><p>It's a two parter, and the next chapter will pick up where we left off. Luckily you won't have to wait too long because the next update is already underway! &lt;3 </p><p>This week I'm cheating a bit on the fic rec, and recommending the fic I mentioned starting in the end notes of the last chapter! If you're into Omegaverse, consider checking out my new work, Stubborn Love, an Ineffable Husbands True Mates fic about the tedious dance of courtship among English nobility early in the Edwardian era, the Lord Omega Crowley's desire for freedom and love in a society built around propriety and practicality, and the Lord Alpha Aziraphale Fell overcoming the pain of the past heartbreak to befriend him.<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654056/chapters/65001556#workskin</p><p>You guys are always so kind with your lovely comments ;o; I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it hurts a little, and you know I never deal out hurt without the promise of comfort soon to follow.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The drive home was quiet but for the light pattering of rain on the windshield, heralding an oncoming storm. </p><p>The inside of Crowley’s head was loud with a cacophony of fierce emotion. With anger. With insecurity. With worry. But he refused to yield to it, the fingers of his free hand intertwined loosely with Aziraphale’s over the center console. He drove slowly today, despite his seething urge to be more of a menace than ever. By some stroke of luck, they approached the book shop just as Poyel was leaving for the day, and Crowley parked in the empty spot. </p><p>Aziraphale didn’t budge from his seat, and as Crowley rounded the car, he found his angel staring distantly out the windscreen, lost in solemn thought. It was enough to break his heart. </p><p>Carefully, he opened the door, hearing thunder rumble in the distance, and ducked in to unbuckle Aziraphale, who started out of his trance. </p><p>“Oh dear, I’m sorry, I was lost there for a moment.” </p><p>Crowley pushed his sunglasses into his hair and gave him a long, yearning look, brushing his fingers over his cheek. For months, Aziraphale had done so well without the compulsive apologies. Some cruel beratement from someone he admired, and here they were, back again. </p><p>“Don’t be sorry,” Crowley whispered, “come on, angel.” </p><p>They went through the shop entrance, and Crowley was reminded of the first time he came in so long ago. It had been raining then, too. Aziraphale had asked him to come in so he might dry off, fussing over the slim possibility that he might catch ill even though it was only his hair and shirt that had been caught in the downpour. Crowley had tried to start a fire in the hearth, and Aziraphale had chased him off to the kitchen and fed him with the Shabbos dinner he’d made for himself.</p><p>Hell’s bells, he’d been taking care of Crowley before the redhead had the slightest idea. He wondered if it had been a conscious thing for Aziraphale. He wondered if it was a decision he made, and when he’d made it. </p><p>Crowley laced his fingers into Aziraphale’s, tugging him up to his flat and straight to the bedroom. He set him down on the edge of the bed before carefully taking off the tie that clashed with every fiber of Aziraphale’s identity. Crowley was determined to sneak it away and burn it, along with the strange, modern trousers. </p><p>There was no heat to the manner in which his fingers pulled away the layers of Aziraphale’s clothing. Only something soft. Careful. Sacred. Ocean-colored eyes grew distant again, a shining wetness threatening to gather into something more at any moment. Then he was stripped down to his vest and pants, and Crowley shuffled around to find blankets he deemed adequate before taking Aziraphale’s hands and tugging petulantly at them. </p><p>“Stand up.”</p><p>The awareness returned to Aziraphale’s eyes just enough to lodge a curious look in Crowley’s direction. </p><p>“Trust me,” Crowley said with a small smirk, “I’m a professional.” </p><p>Aziraphale didn’t seem to have any inclination to chase after his meaning but entertained his request, standing up before him. Without further ado, Crowley meticulously began to wrap him up with blankets, feeling a bit of victory when a half-hearted snort sounded while tucking the blanket over Aziraphale’s head and into its own folds before starting on another layer.</p><p>“And what are you doing, exactly?” Aziraphale asked. </p><p>“I’m making you a blanket burrito.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“It helps.”</p><p>“It does?” Aziraphale asked with the sort of intrigue one might use when entertaining a silly child sharing some fantastical imaginings. Crowley smirked at it anyway. Anyone else and he might tear their throat out, but he enjoyed Aziraphale humoring him. He treasured being seen and treated as something endearing or precious. Even if he didn’t believe it, not wholly, he’d been spoiled too much to ever let it go now.</p><p>“It does. Scientifically proven.” </p><p>“By who?” </p><p>“The Crowley Institute of Brooding, of course,” Crowley remarked, admiring his handiwork and bullying Aziraphale to lay down in the bed. </p><p>His partner gave him an amused hum of acknowledgement. Crowley slid his glasses off the top of his head, tossed them on the nightstand, clambered onto the bed, and cuddled up against Aziraphale’s back. One arm tightly wrapped around his chest, his leg hitched over his hip, his nose nuzzled against the blanket covering the back of his neck. He breathed him in, heart aching as he felt his lover tremble beneath him. </p><p>It was a new kind of pain, seeing someone he loved suffering like this. It gave him perspective on all the beloved people of his life who had witnessed his pain and depression. He took a deep breath, and squeezed Aziraphale. </p><p>“Angel.” </p><p>Aziraphale turned his head the slightest bit in acknowledgement. </p><p>“‘S just me,” Crowley said, voice rough with emotion as he rested his hand over Aziraphale’s heart, “and as long as that’s the case, you’re safe. You’re unconditionally loved and wholly accepted.”</p><p>He felt the plush body in his arms tremble harder, Aziraphale’s chest working hard and arrhythmically, just barely holding in the pain. </p><p>Almost there. Just a bit more. </p><p>“I’ve got it, love. I’ve got your back.” </p><p>A choked sob sounded at last, and Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, biting back his own tears as he washed his hand over Aziraphale’s chest, drawing out what was soon a steady weeping. </p><p>“You’re the most lovely person I’ve ever met, Aziraphale,” he croaked against the blanket, nuzzling against him, “You’re so kind. So intelligent. So full of love.”</p><p>Somehow, Aziraphale managed to free one of his hands, gripping Crowley’s arm as if an angry tide might rip them apart. </p><p>“And a bit of a bastard, too,” Crowley murmured, giving a watery smile at the laugh that erupted through the sobs. </p><p>It hurt, Aziraphale’s pain. It hurt so much it left an empty ache in Crowley’s chest.</p><p>“I’m so proud of you,” he tried to say, but despite his most devoted efforts to stay strong, his voice broke into a sob halfway through, and he gripped the blankets over Aziraphale’s chest, feeling a strong, soft hand grasp his fingers and <em> squeeze </em>them. </p><p>“You deserve happiness more than anyone,” Crowley cried, giving up on barring his own tears. </p><p>Time passed in undetermined quantities, a moment stretched out in what felt like an eternity, or perhaps it was the other way around- an eternity trapped into a fleeting moment. They fell into an isolated dimension, far away from reality, from its cruelty and hurt. A space they could be safe, crying together over Aziraphale’s pain. The lights of Soho went on flashing outside, the voices shouting and music playing on the streets in that eternal way unique to this little corner of London. The rain shuttered against the roof, the thunder booming in the distance.</p><p>It might have been hours, but the only counting Crowley was doing was wrapped up in the breaths indicated by the hypnotic rise and fall of the aching chest beneath his fingers. Their position remained tightly interwoven, quiet sobs transformed into silent breathing, broken only by sniffles. It was raw, but it was alright. They were together, after all. </p><p>After a time, Crowley wondered if Aziraphale had fallen asleep. He himself was in a trance, watching the colors that rhythmically washed through the window, his fingers long since having burrowed beneath the blankets to feel his lover’s strong heartbeat. </p><p>“Pass me a tissue?” Aziraphale asked, the roughness of his voice only amplified against the quiet of the room, “I’m afraid I’ve diminished the poor pillowcase into a handkerchief.” </p><p>Crowley huffed a laugh through his nose, pulling his heavy limbs away and reaching for the box of the tissues. Aziraphale sat up beside him, freeing himself at last from his cocoon so the pair of them might rip through a dozen tissues together, reduced to tired, tearful laughter over the seemingly endless snot that just kept coming. </p><p>“Oh darling, you’re still in your clothes, you’re going to have those terrible red marks,” Aziraphale sighed, voice coming out a touch nasally due to his stuffed up nose. </p><p>“It might seem painful,” Crowley shrugged with a shaky sigh and a smile, “but it’ll fade.”</p><p>The sentiment felt bigger than he meant it, somehow. </p><p>With help from his partner, he shucked his waistcoat and trousers, reduced to his long sleeved v-neck, pants, and socks. With the dirtied pillow traded out for another, they laid down again, facing one another this time. Aziraphale tugged Crowley close, tracing his fingers over the red indented line that ran along Crowley’s hip and down his outer thigh and making sure he had enough of the shared pillow to be comfortable. Crowley might have impulsively told him to stop fussing if his partner weren’t so clearly in need of a bit of control, and besides, he rather did love to be fussed over, if only by Aziraphale.</p><p>“It was sweet, what you said about my grandfather, about how he would be proud.” </p><p>Crowley shrugged, circling his fingertips over the white fuzz that hinted over the chest of Aziraphale’s vest. </p><p>“He would be. I know it. You talk about him so much I feel like I know him,” he confessed.</p><p>Aziraphale smiled, kissing the tip of Crowley’s hooked nose. </p><p>“I think he would have liked you.” </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yes. He always said I could use some more chutzpah. I suppose when you walked- or rather- were <em> wheeled </em>into my life I got it in human form.” </p><p>Crowley didn’t particularly know what the word meant, but he had a feeling it had something to do with his audacity. The thought made him lodge a cheeky grin. </p><p>“You’re not mad that I lost it?” </p><p>“No,” Aziraphale laughed quietly, “No, I think it was very sweet how passionately you came to my defense. Perhaps a bit worrying; I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite that angry.” </p><p>Crowley felt his face flush, offering a haphazard shrug in place of words that felt too vulnerable to share. </p><p>So Aziraphale did that thing- the one Crowley loved- where he gave him the room to understand feelings that frightened him. His hand stopped its stroking to tuck around Crowley’s slender waist, pulling him close. His free fingers raised to brush over his cheek as he thought. Finally, Crowley found the words he sought.</p><p>“I don’t- I don’t have a family. I only have the people I choose, and I chose you for who you are,” he confessed, hoping the simple words could successfully convey the much deeper underlying sentiment. </p><p>By the way Aziraphale’s eyes, darkened in the dim light, grew soft and loving, his inner eyebrows lifting together and the corner of his mouth twitching, Crowley felt he understood. </p><p>“I love you and I want you,” he said, and oh, he sounded so <em> sure.  </em></p><p>The idea that Crowley might not wholly believe him seemed too wicked to entertain. Crowley smiled, annoyed at the return of wetness to his eyes, and closed the distance between them, pressing a sweet kiss to Aziraphale’s lips before pulling away, just slightly. Their noses brushed together. </p><p>“Will your whole family hate me now?” </p><p>Confusion etched across Aziraphale’s face. </p><p>“Why would you imagine that?” </p><p>“Well- you know, won’t the bastard go back and tell them what a filthy-mouthed, brain-washing, life-ruining ‘miscreant’ I am or whatever rubbish he’s decided?” </p><p>“Oh,” Aziraphale laughed, shaking his head, “You’ve no reason to fear that. Mum’s thought he’s a crotchety, wretched old bat my whole life.” </p><p>Crowley barked a laugh as well, “An astute observation.” </p><p>“You know, I think I see what she’s referring to, now,” Aziraphale teased. </p><p>He rolled onto his back, lifting his arm in invitation, and Crowley rearranged himself to cuddle up against him, head on his partner’s softly padded shoulder. His fingers washed over Aziraphale’s chest and stomach idly from over his vest as they lay together in comfortable quiet. </p><p>“Has he always treated you like that?” Crowley found himself asking. If he could kick himself for his tactlessness, he would. </p><p>But Aziraphale took the salt to his fresh wound like a champion, his steady breathing only stopping for a moment before a long exhale followed. </p><p>“I suppose so. I never… well, it sounds terrible, but it seems I never had the perspective to realize how abysmal such treatment was until I came here and stepped away from it all. Until I found the respect of my peers and colleagues all by my own merit.” </p><p>Crowley frowned, drawing thoughtless patterns over Aziraphale’s vest. Perhaps he wasn’t the best Aziraphale could find, he reflected, and perhaps neither was the doctor’s position at the hospital. In both cases, however, Aziraphale received the bare minimum of what he deserved: respect, kindness, and appreciation. Crowley felt a sudden gratitude for Aziraphale’s arrival in London- one that had nothing to do with their meeting or relationship. It was a gratitude for Aziraphale finding better things, even if they weren’t the <em> best </em> possible things. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said quietly, pulling Crowley from his thoughts, “For dragging you into such a horrible mess. I never imagined he’d be so cruel to you.” </p><p>Crowley might have dismissed it, had he not known very well Aziraphale would be hurt by his nonchalance in matters of receiving poor treatment. Still, he frowned, disturbed his partner should regret involving him. </p><p>“Silly man, don’t you know I’d follow you willingly through Hell? Though that’s a shite place for an angel to wander off to, really.” </p><p>He closed his eyes as a hand carded through his hair, practically melting as the skilled fingers moved to his ear, rubbing that magic place that would make him purr, were he able, but he wasn’t, so he sounded a pleased hum instead. All worry and stress slowly melted away, drifting into the universe upon each exhale. </p><p>“Are you alright?” </p><p>Crowley was taken off guard by the question. Of course, he never should have put it past Aziraphale to fret over him. </p><p>He grunted, “I’m fine. I just- I didn’t like seeing you attacked like that. You don’t need that shite- y’know, pompous prigs putting you down when you’ve every reason to be proud. It was hard to watch you be hurt. Not being able to protect you. It still is.” </p><p>Aziraphale sighed, “I know what you mean.” </p><p>Crowley supposed he did. He’d seen him hysterical, manic, frightened, hopeless, and depressed. All Aziraphale could do was stand by and watch. Wait for it to pass. He couldn’t change it, not really. Couldn’t protect Crowley from rotting away in the darkness. </p><p>But he could be a light, steady and sure, and so long as he was, that was more than enough for Crowley to find his way back. He could only hope he provided Aziraphale the same comfort. </p><p>“Thank you, my darling, for taking care of me,” Aziraphale sighed, kissing his forehead, “You’ve no idea how precious you are to me, Anthony.” </p><p>The sentiment was so soft, so sincere that Crowley’s heart ached with it. He rubbed his cheek against Aziraphale’s shoulder, squeezed his arm around his soft stomach, and hoped it was enough to convey how very much those words meant to him, though he was sure it wasn’t. </p><p>Words. Not his strong suit. Nothing Aziraphale didn’t know.</p><p>“Can I take care of you, now?” Aziraphale asked with a weak hesitance. Crowley couldn’t begin to imagine its source.</p><p>He lifted his head and his hand to brush his spindly fingers over his angel’s cheek. </p><p>“You say that as if you’ve been neglecting me.” </p><p>Pain flashed across Aziraphale’s face, clear as day, and Crowley felt his chest tighten with emotion. </p><p>Oh. </p><p>He pushed himself up on an elbow, leaning over Aziraphale and kissing him deeply, his hooked nose bumping against his partner’s pointed one. Perhaps a bit of play would soothe both their aches, help them feel secure in one another- connected. </p><p>“It’s all alright, angel. You’re allowed to be human. Nothing’s broken.” he whispered against soft, downturned lips, doing his best to chase the guilt from his beloved’s features with sweet kisses before leaning back to run his fingers over his chest. </p><p>Aziraphale took a shaking breath, brushing his hand over the small of Crowley’s back. </p><p>“I don’t- don’t want you to ever think that our arrangement is some sort of chore for me, or that I might grow tired of it. I love you. I <em> want </em> to take care of you. I <em> adore </em> having you under my charge, when you’re a saint and when you’re a little demon. It makes me feel good to have it under control, knowing that I can keep you safe, happy, healthy. I don’t want you thinking you have to be perfect all the time to warrant my love, that I expect you to mindlessly obey or that I’d ever- <em> ever </em>wish for you to change. I don’t want to ever be like-,” his voice broke off and died in his throat. </p><p>Didn’t want to be like the government workers who’d idly discussed him like he was a clerical problem to be fixed while he sat in the chair beside them at the age of six. Like the foster parents who called his case worker on a daily basis, begging her to hurry up in finding a new bloody placement for him and get him out of their house the second he asked hard questions or acted too clingy or had an ugly emotion. Like the psychiatrists who had pumped him full of mood stabilizers, drugging his teenage self into conformity and complacency at the cost of his identity in an easy, thoughtless transaction. Like the group home leader that acted like she’d received some great blessing when Crowley was checked into the psychiatric hospital after his attempt. Like all the caretakers and guardians and role models who had failed him, who had told him he needed to shut up and sit down to be <em> worthy </em> of love or affection, who had bombarded him with rules- not to keep him safe or happy or healthy- but to keep him <em> controlled.  </em></p><p>Crowley fixed Aziraphale with an expression of hopeless adoration, emotion swelling in his chest and tears forming in his eyes as he nodded. While he had the utmost faith in his partner, the validation was nice. Aziraphale loved him. Wanted him. His words inspired a delicate hope - one Crowley was very afraid of harboring- that perhaps it would stay that way. Perhaps Aziraphale’s love wouldn’t fade away. Perhaps his desire wouldn’t disappear. Perhaps he truly found the good moments worth muddling through the bad ones. It was a slow, aching process, but he was believing it more and more every day. </p><p>“I know that, angel. I do.” </p><p>“Well. I feel I’ve done a horrid job of inspiring that faith, these last couple days,” he croaked, his eyes wet as well. </p><p>Crowley should have anticipated that the cold, snapping remark Aziraphale had delivered that morning would live rent-free in his Dominant’s head, growing into some big, beastly, wretched thing so much bigger than the simple expression of crankiness it was. He smiled, leaning to press a precious kiss to Aziraphale’s lips. </p><p>“You could never lose my faith, but you’re welcome to inspire <em> something </em>in me now, if you’d like,” he whispered against them. </p><p>A slow exhaling laugh trickled past Aziraphale’s lips, and he carefully rearranged them, rolling Crowley onto his back and leaning over him, rubbing his side. </p><p>“Not your most artful segue.” he weakly huffed.</p><p>“When’d I claim to be an artist?” Crowley hummed back with a cheeky grin.</p><p>The wavering smile on Aziraphale’s face faded into something more solemn, more reverent as his stormy blue eyes traversed over Crowley’s face. The pain was still there.</p><p>“It’s alright if you just want to be held, dear heart, if you just want to feel safe in my arms and know that we’re together and we’re both alright.” </p><p>Crowley smiled, feeling as if he could melt into the mattress at the consideration. Feeling seen and known and loved. A thin hand was planted against Aziraphale’s soft, broad chest. </p><p>“I do want that, but first, I want you to touch me. It feels like so long since we’ve been intimate. I miss having you that way, and it’s been a shitty day. I want to make you focus on something better, something good to soothe the hurt, something you can count on. You may not have had control over what happened earlier, but you have this. You have me,” he easily gave.</p><p>Perhaps, in the beginning, such a confession might have felt like pulling teeth or might have been followed by some depreciation over how he knew that he wasn’t much to have. It was different now. Simple. He told Aziraphale what he needed; Aziraphale rejoiced in giving it to him. The communication was easy, the give and take of control as natural as breathing. It was good. Careful and considerate. It was the happiest, healthiest relationship Crowley had ever had, and for once in his life, he felt some semblance of stability. He felt loved for who he was. <em> All </em>of who he was. Even the part that tried to throw water in the face of  an old man at the most upscale restaurant in Soho after loudly announcing a wish for the bugger’s expedient death.</p><p>“I don’t want you to worry about me,” Aziraphale lamented.</p><p>“Now <em> that </em>you can’t control. In fact I dare you to try and stop me,” Crowley teased before stroking his thumb over Aziraphale’s cheekbone, “besides, like I said, I miss it. You’ve been so- so patient with me. So kind, taking care of me the way I needed. Putting my needs before your desires. My angel.”</p><p>“I miss it too, ” Aziraphale admitted with a sigh, raining down gentle presses of kisses against the corner of his lips, the shadows of his nose, his closed eyelids, “but you know-”</p><p>“I know,” Crowley laughed, finding his lover’s endless, earnest reassurances to be quite endearing, “there’s no pressure when I’m not game, but I’m back to baseline, I swear it, and <em> painfully </em>game, at that.” </p><p>“Hmmm are you?” </p><p>“Oh yes,” Crowley sighed, biting his lip hopefully as desire fluttered low in his stomach, His cock stirring in his pants, slowly clued in on the nature of the conversation. </p><p>“Are you <em> positive?” </em>Aziraphale fussed, laying little nips and sucking kisses against his neck that had Crowley squirming to expose more of his throat, allowing him a greater canvas to explore. </p><p>“I really am! I promise!” he reassured, but then Aziraphale pulled away, revealing that gorgeous bastard smirk, and Crowley sucked his teeth, unable to hide his toothy grin as he playfully swatted his lover’s arm, “I can’t believe you’re taking the bloody time to tease me after over <em> a month.”  </em></p><p>“Oh darling,” Aziraphale laughed, bumping their noses together as his free hand teased his stomach muscles beneath the hem of his ridden-up shirt, “The world could be ending and I’d take the time to tease you.” </p><p>“How romantic,” Crowley tutted, his cozy laughter underscoring his sarcasm. He slid his hand behind Aziraphale’s jaw, cupping the nape of his neck and playing with the soft curls that began there. “So how would you like to see to me, pretty angel?” </p><p>Aziraphale let out a low, thoughtful hum, his chest vibrating against Crowley’s upper arm and his fingers idling lower to massage his inner thigh. The loving ministrations against sensitive, touch-starved flesh pulled a delighted gasp from Crowley, and he turned his knee outward to encourage further attention. A slow but steady tenting started up in his pants, calling for attention. However Aziraphale had different plans, pulling his fingers away to take Crowley’s wrists in a gentle hold and pin them together against his chest, his forearms tucked against himself and his fingers curled under his chin in loose fists. </p><p>“I’d like to bind you like this.” </p><p>“Just my arms?” Crowley breathed, heart hammering in his chest. </p><p>“Just your arms,” Aziraphale confirmed, releasing Crowley’s arms and feeling over the expanse of his clothed chest, journeying the valleys beside the sharp juts of his hips, trailing over the trail of red curls leading from his belly button and disappearing into his tented pants. A dark, lust-addled look swam in the depths of Aziraphale’s eyes, something of enchanting danger and mystery. Oh, how Crowley missed this. </p><p>“Then, if you’re amenable,” he began, hesitating for a moment before nipping Crowley’s lip, “I’d like to take that pretty cock of yours.” </p><p>Crowley suddenly remembered the dial up noise he hadn’t heard since the 90s. It would be impossible not to, seeing as it was now blaring through his head as his mind scrambled to put together thoughts it had never once considered. He couldn’t manage it. The connection was busy. </p><p>“You- ngk…. Huh?” he articulated so eloquently, drawing a soft laugh from Aziraphale. </p><p>“Don’t misunderstand, I love all the forms our intimacy takes, but I’d very much like to bring each other off on the connection of our bodies. We’ve never been able to experience it.” </p><p>Crowley’s face heated, and he felt quite betrayed as his cock grew harder, a dull throbbing ache beginning in his bollocks. </p><p>“Are you- ? Aziraphale, are you suggesting you power bottom?” he croaked out, voice doing something shrill and strange. </p><p>“Oh, yes. I am sorry, darling, I thought I’d made that rather clear,” Aziraphale hummed casually, as if they were discussing the weather and not the reality of him tying Crowley down, sinking that plush, glorious arse onto his cock, and riding him ragged. </p><p>“I- I thought you don’t like bottoming,” he said stupidly, heartbeat so loud in his ears it was nearly deafening. </p><p>“I never said that,” Aziraphale chided softly, “I said I only enjoy it if I’m in control. But if you’re not interested, of course-”</p><p>“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions here!” Crowley managed out through a tight voice, wildly swooping in octave in a manner that made Aziraphale laugh. </p><p>“Right then, do you need anything before we start? We really should get you some fluids. We didn’t ever get to eat, and I’m fairly certain you overtly avoided drinking your water so you might have a full glass to throw, should the opportunity present itself.” </p><p>Crowley grasped a hand over his stomach as he laughed and shook his head up at Aziraphale’s teasing grin.</p><p>“Nah, angel. We can worry about that after. Don’t need it right now. Just need you,” he promised, and though he wasn’t afraid of being vulnerable for Aziraphale any more, the confession still had heat pooling to his face.</p><p>Aziraphale hummed with a smile, passing his hand over Crowley’s to give it a squeeze. </p><p>“Alright, then, but you shan’t wriggle out of it when we’re done. I’ll get the ropes. What color would you like tonight, darling?” he asked, pushing himself off the bed and moving to dig through one of many drawers housing the supplies that would push Crowley towards that cozy, blissful trance at the mere sight of. </p><p>Crowley’s heart was hammering in his chest now. His fingers and toes buzzed in an anticipation so sharp it might have pushed him towards anxiety had the sweet domesticity of the trivial question not grounded his mind. The entire spectrum of color flashed through his head, but he religiously returned to one that brought such comfort, all the others paled and fell away in comparison.</p><p>“Blue,” he blurted thoughtlessly. Blue like the sea. Blue like a stormy sky. Blue like the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen. </p><p>The ropes Aziraphale retrieved with a soft smile were decidedly more vibrant and pure than the blue of his eyes, but Crowley was just as eager to be bound by them, knowing he would be trapped inside Aziraphale’s love and care just as well, each knot capturing the trusting bond between them.</p><p>The heat of Crowley’s impending reality set back in as he watched his partner set the ropes down beside him alongside a bottle of lube and a condom. He couldn’t help but pull a bit of a pout at the latter despite intellectually being very aware of the value of the item. Aziraphale had truly spoiled him, the window of chastity at the beginning of their relationship was plenty of time for them both to be tested and discuss their preferences.  While he’d experienced the luxury of condom-free sex for nearly five months now, he was well aware Aziraphale didn’t share the enjoyment of hot, sticky spend spilling inside him. It only took that thought, the recollection that he was about to be hip-deep inside of Aziraphale, for him to forget condom woes. Hell, he’d wear <em> two </em>if this new experience of intimacy between them was his prize.</p><p>The angry beating of his heart was back at it twofold. It was always like this at first. He was certain the excitement of being with Aziraphale, especially in new ways, would never fade away, and the length of time they’d gone without intimacy was only serving to rile him more. </p><p>The only thing that could calm him now was the gentle pull of the tide towards that safe space where Aziraphale kept him so securely, where he could release any concerns or trepidations, knowing his partner had everything under control. </p><p>“Are you alright darling? We don’t have to-” Aziraphale started, but so much as entertaining turning back now was as good as sacrilege to Crowley. </p><p>“Oh come on! That’s like dangling Louboutins in front of my face and then chucking them out the window!” </p><p>With a soft chuckle, Aziraphale conceded on the point.</p><p>“Now, I could never be as cruel as all that,” he hummed, crawling over the bed and to Crowley’s side, allowing his hands to lazily sweep over the slender figure. </p><p>The thin fabric of Crowley’s shirt was pushed up to show the pale expanse of his stomach and chest. The soft, warm fingers lingered indulgently, brushing over his hips, swirling lightly in the divot of his naval, ghosting over his nipples. The sharp pinch of Crowley’s teeth digging into his own lower lip hardly registered as he closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the pillow, arching his spine into the teasing ministrations in a silent request for more. His fingers twisted into the soft fabric of the pillowcase, and Aziraphale sounded an approving hum. </p><p>“Oh lovely. Such a good boy for me Anthony. Even after all this time you’re being so beautifully patient. Wonderful, my sweet thing,” he cooed.</p><p>A petulant whine ripped from Crowley’s chest at the praise, his knees bending so he might curl his toes into the sheets as the sweet praise invigorated his cock to swell to full attention. It tried, at the very least, the attempt hindered by the tight elastic waistband of his pants. He whimpered, bucking his hips up in a silent pleading request. </p><p>The warm hands swept over his chest with more pressure now, washing soothing circles over his chest and stomach.</p><p>“Hush now darling, you know I’ll take care of you. Just relax. Let go of all this tension. I have you.” </p><p>And with one long, measured exhale, Crowley did. He let his limbs fall lax, perfectly malleable for whatever artwork Aziraphale decided to make of them. As his clothing was removed with gentle, reverent care, his breathing remained deep and slow, only interrupted by soft sighs and quiet moans when Aziraphale paused to caress him just so, to indulge him by massaging or working his mouth against the shadow of his hip, or his inner thighs. Even the exposure of his aching arousal to the cold air couldn’t upset him. </p><p>He leaned into the mindful hand combing through his hair, and his heart melted at the realization that Aziraphale had left his socks on, knowing that his submissive’s feet got cold so easily. It was such a little thing, and yet it filled Crowley with that cozy, familiar warmth of feeling known. Feeling loved. Feeling precious. </p><p>“Oh, simply lovely, sweet boy. There you are,” Aziraphale cooed quietly. </p><p>His thumb ran over the sharp jut of Crowley’s jaw. His fingers slid over the tendons of his throat. The tip of his index swirled in the space between Crowley’s collarbones. The gentle hands continued the reverent ministrations, making Crowley feel treasured in the way only Aziraphale had ever managed. The familiarity of it could never get old. It was always a comfort. A relief. It felt like home- <em> Aziraphale </em>felt like home. </p><p>Crowley’s awareness of the physical realm slipped away as his wrists were arranged carefully over his chest, as the rope was weaved through and around, the knots securing the safe net he fell into. He was only aware of the warmth of Aziraphale’s hands against him, the tight binds holding him fast, the steady measure of his own breathing. He began to fall into that beloved place where sensation took the place of reality. </p><p>The praise and adoration that spilled from his lover’s lips washed over him like a gentle tide, and his eyes fluttered closed. He was caught tight in the ropes. Tighter in the warm, comforting cocoon of Aziraphale’s power, his care and affection, pulled under into that place where nothing existed but the physical ecstasy of their connection. Crowley was able to identify the translation of his entranced sensation to the reality of what caused them now, and it thrilled him to know that all-encompassing pleasure that radiated outwards from his core in rolling shocks was Aziraphale’s mouth, hot and wet against the base of his cock. His gentle fingers rolling his bollocks in his fingers, cradling them in his palm. A surge of need and excitement shot through his chest, blooming viciously and aching his lungs as a dry finger rubbed against his needy, clenching hole. Whatever tension had been built from the small act slipped easily away as the strong hand shifted to pin down his thigh, rubbing soothing circles there, and Aziraphale’s voice rang out in a commanding tone. He couldn’t be sure what it said, but it didn’t matter, he supposed, as his body eagerly obeyed, calmness washing over him at the steadiness of his angel’s control. </p><p>The other hand seemed to be missing, but as the warm suction of his partner’s mouth took in his length, he could want for nothing else. The hazy, comforting fog of his mind set in thicker, pushing him further from the harsh sounds and sting of reality than he could fully understand. He could appreciate it, however, and <em> oh </em>he did. Aziraphale had put him under a few times over the last month, keeping him safe from all the anxiety that his hectic life and depressive episode  brought, but after the stretch of chastity he’d nearly forgotten the incredible bliss that he was blessed with when sex was laced into their play. </p><p>Aziraphale set a slow, rhythm, just as he always did. His tongue massaged and swirled around every bit of Crowley’s cock, pulling at his foreskin, lathering over his slit,  not neglecting even the scantest bit of flesh. He wasn’t simply devouring him. He was <em> savoring </em>him. It was a sort of hedonistic worship that not even the Ritz’s Crêpes Suzette could warrant. </p><p>By rule, Crowley wasn’t a patient creature. He never would have stood for such a tortuously luxurious treatment before. Before Aziraphale tied him down. Before Aziraphale gave him no option but to relax. Before Aziraphale made him fall so in love with being cherished and spoiled that he could have an entire bucketful of fucks and still give none about whether or not he <em> deserved </em>it all. </p><p>At least twice there were those familiar moments in which he would desperately attempt to arch his back, tilting his head back on the pillow to brace himself against the building, sinful tension coiling in his stomach like a spring waiting to be released. Then the decadent suction would pause, and a soft hand would stroke gently over the trembling muscles of his stomach, dispersing the strain there until Crowley was safely away from the edge before eagerly starting back in. </p><p>The third pause was a bit different, instead of the gentle caresses over his abdomen, Crowley felt them come to his cheek. The familiar warmth of Aziraphale’s broad figure crowded over him, and Crowley gasped, a shiver working up his spin as a soft kiss was pressed to the corner of his mouth, the flesh there vibrating as his partner mumbled something against it that he was far too incoherent to gather. An uncomfortable, unfamiliar tightness rolled down over his length, and he wracked his brain attempting to remember any other time he’d felt such a discomfort in their play. He failed, and then realized something that really might have been quite obvious had his rational thought not abandoned him long ago. </p><p>It was a condom. Aziraphale was going to ride him. He must have been opening himself up this entire time. Hell, Crowley had nearly forgotten the entire scene they’d agreed upon. Before he had time to gather his bearings from the first crashing wave of realization, the second barrelled over him, nearly dragging him under: they’d never gone this far before. </p><p>Crowley attempted to jerk himself to alertness, the stark shove against the inertia of his substate making him so dizzy he was nearly nauseous. The room spun for some time, refusing to allow Crowley’s eyes to fall into focus. His head ached, all the pressure of thought that had been suspended overhead suddenly caving in on him. The hand that had only just been lining up Crowley’s straining length abandoned its course of action.</p><p>Aziraphale raised up on his knees, resting one grounding hand on Crowlay’s upper arm and the other tangling into his hair. He tugged- a gentle thing, only enough to get Crowley’s full attention. </p><p>“Are you alright, Anthony? Color?” </p><p>The process of forming the words to answer likened the ease and speed of pouring molasses. </p><p>“‘S- mhfi- guh- nh, green,” he managed to get out, his thoughts still far too scrambled to catch up with the quickened pace the gears of his mind were attempting to grind at. </p><p>It seemed the eagerness to please was so deeply ingrained in Crowley that even his vision got it together under Aziraphale’s expectation. His frowning face came into view, and Crowley lodged a dopey, dazed smile up at him in an attempt to reassure. It was difficult, staying surfaced with his arms tucked tightly against his chest, the soft ropes biting his skin, his fingers curled under his chin, his body pinned beneath Aziraphale’s, completely at his mercy. His heart seemed to be dead set in its mission to beat even faster than a hummingbird’s wings. </p><p>“What’s wrong?” </p><p>“Absolutely nothing,” Crowley attempted to say, but his capacity for execution was lagging far behind his mind’s commands. Thus, it came out as a mangled cross between a grunt and a sigh. Aziraphale understood him, because of course he did. </p><p>For a moment he fixed Crowley with a scrutinizing glance, measuring up his state of being before deciding to believe him. His disposition softened after that, and he hummed, leaning down to lay sweet kisses to Crowley’s cheek. </p><p>“No need to waste energy treading water, it’s perfectly alright for you to sink under, darling.” </p><p>Crowley felt heat rise to his face, not from embarrassment, but from a disorienting elation. He’d long since learned he didn’t need to feel shame for expressing his desires to Aziraphale. </p><p>“Wan… wanna... wanna be here… wanna remember this.” </p><p>Aziraphale all but melted, the deep pools of his eyes growing warmer and more inviting than they had already been. </p><p>“Alright, pet. Just remember I’m right here. If you need to let go, I have you.” </p><p>It was Crowley’s turn to unfold, to feel himself molded by Aziraphale’s careful hands and loving focus.</p><p>His breath hitched as Aziraphale raised up on his knees once more, reaching behind himself to take Crowley in hand. His partner shushed him quietly, leaning down to press another soft kiss to his brow. </p><p>“Just relax, sweet thing. As much as you can. You know I’m ever so proud of you just for trying.”</p><p>A long whine sounded involuntarily from Crowley’s chest. His mind went hazy, his vision starred and swirling as he fought the strong pull of his submissive trance. He did his best to obey while keeping himself afloat, teeth digging into the flesh of his lower lip as Aziraphale lined them up and pressed down, just barely sinking down over the head of Crowley’s cock.</p><p>“Oh fuck! Fuck! Angel” </p><p>“It’s alright, my darling Anthony. I have you. I have you.” Aziraphale repeated like the most beautiful mantra Crowley had ever heard, and were he in a place to notice anything other that the incredible, hot, greedy suction, he would marvel at how Aziraphale was able to keep his voice so steady, so calm, his head so even, his gaze so devotedly focused and domineering as he slowly slid downwards, taking Crowley in inch by maddening inch until he was fully seated. He appeared just as collected and steady as when he’d started, but Crowley was much worse for wear. </p><p>Desperate cries ripped out of Crowley’s chest amidst his quickened pants for air. He was caught, entirely pinned down, tied up, trapped by Aziraphale in every conceivable way.</p><p>It was beautiful. It was perfect. </p><p>His hips did their damndest to grind up into the intoxicating, mind-blowingly warm pressure. He longed to be unsheathed, to feel the glorious texture of Aziraphale’s tightness, but he couldn’t possibly complain. Couldn’t imagine having <em> any </em>reason to. His efforts were for naught, as in his current position, with the restriction of the ropes he was caught in and the heavy pressure pinning him down, he was unable to grasp even an iota of control over the pleasure he was gifted. </p><p>“Shhh-shhh-shh, I know sweet boy. Oh, if you feel even a morsel of the ecstasy that I do with the way you’re filling me up, I know perfectly well, but you’re mine. I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry about a thing, not even lasting.” </p><p>A soft, mindful thumb pulled his abused lower lip free of his sharp canines, and Crowley whimpered, mindlessly following in line to obey the soothing breathing cues Aziraphale was silently commanding of him. Soon, his breath was steady and even, and he was a more comfortable distance from an instant release. The sharp overstimulation of Aziraphale squeezing around his cock became familiar enough for him to let go the slightest bit. His muscles gave way under his lover’s soothing hands, relaxing. </p><p>Despite the angry stubbornness of his mind to stay present, his body and heart fell into the motions. Nothing had changed. Perhaps he was more aware, but that didn’t change things. Aziraphale still had control of everything. It remained safe to relax. To let go. To be. </p><p>“Oh- oh <em> Aziraphale,” </em>he cried, overwhelmed with the pleasure of his partner slowly grinding above his hips, pulsing around his straining cock, the heat sliding away only to consume him whole yet again. If it weren’t for the steady thumb on his chin, a silent commanding reminder to be kind to himself, he would bite his lip until it bled at the maddening pleasure. </p><p>“I know Anthony,” Azirpahle cooed, his voice the slightest bit ragged. </p><p>The pace he slowly worked to was maddeningly slow. It was leisurely, luxurious, <em> delicious. </em>The remaining bit of Crowley, the animal that found itself undeserving of anything more attentive than a quick, dirty shag was howling in protest at the indulgence of it all, but the bit that lived and thrived off of Aziraphale’s soft attention and praise was rejoicing at the knowledge that he was the object of Aziraphale’s most devoted acts of hedonism. </p><p>“Oh, so good for me, Anthony. You’re simply divine, do you know that?” Aziraphale panted, sounding low, gutteral moans that turned Crowley’s world upside down. Even that mind-numbing arousal paled in comparison to the way his partner tightened around him as he seemed to find the perfect fashion of rocking their hips together to grind Crowley’s cock against his sweet-spot, “My most- oh, <em> fuck- </em> my precious boy. You feel so good inside me. I knew you would. How could you- ah- <em> oh, </em> ever disappoint me? So kind. So clever. The most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. My perfectly imperfect heart. Mmmh, I feel you darling. I see you.” </p><p>Crowley felt betrayed as his eyes grew watery, tears forming at the overwhelming sensory overload of love and ecstasy married together. </p><p>It was so much. Too much. Enough to spill over, that he might scratch his chest, quicken the pace, make it rougher, hide his face or gag himself, anything to escape the overwhelming softness and sweetness of the acts. Yet he was bound, forced to be subject to worship, and his mind found a cozy medium of slipping between that dark, cozy blanket of pleasure and remaining present enough to take in the glorious image above him. Aziraphale didn’t seem quite as affected by penetration as Crowley was, but oh, he <em> did </em>enjoy it. </p><p>Truly, Crowley was sure he had died and went to heaven as he watched Aziraphale grinding down on his hips, jaw relaxed, lips wet and ajar, grey-blue eyes clouded with pleasure- but open. Observing. Always observing. Always watching over Crowley. Keeping him safe. Keeping him comfortable. His own angel, sheltering him under his wings. </p><p>“Lo-love you s-sss-so much!”  Crowley cried, moaning interrupted by an emotional hiccup as the hot tears spilled over, streaking down his cheeks. </p><p>He was absorbed by the connection. He would happily submit to being pinned beneath Aziraphale’s singular focus, trapped in his ropes and body and love for the rest of time. The latter of those things just might be possible, he believed, now more than ever, but for now, he had them <em> all, </em>and thus he would not cede a single thought to any moment other than the present. </p><p>“My sweet, gorgeous pet,” Azirphale cooed. The grinding’s pace picked up only a slight tick, but the thrusts were deeper, more powerful, making the bed groan and the headboard rock boisterously against the wall. All that noise fell away in Crowley’s mind, paled in comparison to Aziraphale’s gravelly, out-of-breath voice washing praise over him, “sharing your beautiful tears just for me. I love them so dearly. I love all- oh, <em> ohhh- </em> all of your emotions, Anthony, I hope you know. Your joy and anger and sadness. Your compassion and frustration. I’ve never known anyone who feels so deeply, so vastly, so <em> much. </em>How could I ever admonish you for such heartbreaking authenticity, my darling boy? How unique you are in your sensitivity. How very special you are. So precious.” </p><p>Out of all the riches and wonders and luxuries of the world, not one of them could form a pull over Crowley the way Aziraphale’s sweet words did. He wondered if this was always the nature of the praise Aziraphale rained down on him when he slipped under. He wondered how he had ever gotten so lucky. He wondered how he could ever be monstrous enough not to believe him with all the faith and trust he <em> deserved.  </em></p><p>After all, Aziraphale loved him for what he saw, and he saw him for who he truly was. Again and again, he proved that the more he was permitted to see, the more unwavering his adoration. The more determined and earnest his praise and affection. </p><p>A sob ripped from Crowley’s chest, and with the release, he let go. If only for a moment, he let go of all the fear and anxiety. He let go of all the heartache. Aziraphale was there to catch every bit of it. To love and validate every scrap of emotion. His chest felt cracked open in the most refreshingly painful sort of way, the way his head might ache after hours of a good, long-overdue cry. The combination of his hard-working lungs, loosened heart, and the tension coiling low in his gut, drawing up his bollocks, so hot and tight it <em> ached </em>was overwhelming. His mind couldn’t sort out which to focus on, and so, as always, he devoted his entirety to the source of all of them. </p><p>“Ah-ah- all yours!” he sobbed, and through Aziraphale’s fluttering lashes, a semblance of lucidity glimmered among all the ecstasy, dark and dangerous and beautiful. </p><p>Aziraphale leaned down, crowding over Crowley as he rocked his hips faster, milking Crowley towards the orgasm that, after several months of seeing to his submissive’s pleasure, he was well aware they were rocking on the precipice of. One hand gripped the mattress beside Crowley’s head, powerful fingers digging into the sheets. The other coiled its digits ever so softly in Crowley’s red locks with a tenderness that made his heart ache. He was fixed with a gaze ten times heavier than the body pressing down above him. It was deep, harboring a network of honesty, love, respect, protection, and possessiveness so tightly interwoven Crowley couldn’t fathom picking them apart. </p><p>“All mine,” Aziraphale confirmed. His voice was hoarse, gruff, but clear, quiet, tender. </p><p>It was all the validation Crowley needed to crumble to pieces below his protector. He closed his eyes, colorful fireworks bursting against the dark red backdrop of his eyelids. He submitted to the earthquake-like experience that the rocking of the bed and his monumental orgasm yielded, allowing it to shake him apart, shockwaves pulsing out from his stomach and leaving his fingertips trembling with the residual might of the onslaught. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted a soft hand caressing his cheek. </p><p>Not just <em> any </em> hand- <em> Aziraphale’s </em>hand, and that made all the difference really. </p><p>The pressure of the plush arse gloriously grinding against his hips didn’t let up, instead riding him through his orgasm. It didn’t disappear until he whimpered from the overstimulation of his flagging, well-fucked cock. Just as he began to creep back into his senses from the mind-blowing state of arousal, he opened his eyes to Aziraphale on his knees above him, straddling him with a hungry look in his eye and fingers laced tight in Crowley’s hair as he worked himself off aggressively in his other hand. The sight sent Crowley reeling into the loving embrace of the comfortable darkness he had been fighting so vigilantly. It was exactly where he needed to be, the perfect place to soothe him from the unexpected, debilitating exhaustion of his efforts. </p><p>Distantly, he felt the hot ropes of spend streak across his lower stomach and his bound arms but was unable to respond in any proper way other than sounding a low hum of thorough satisfaction. </p><p>He drifted for a time, basking at long last in the warm, familiar drift far away from reality and its worries. </p><p>Crowley couldn’t be sure how long it had truly been, but it didn’t feel to be too incredibly long before Aziraphale gently bullied him out of the trance with soft kisses and softer encouragements. His body had been wiped clean, the evidence of the condom and his spend long gone. His forearms and wrists boasted slight red imprints from the soft ropes, but he found himself in soft pajama bottoms as he sat with his legs curled in a sloppy criss-cross beneath the thick, warm duvet he’d been tucked under. He’d given up attempting to make sense of Aziraphale’s expediency in aftercare some time ago. Wasn’t for him to fuss over, anyway. </p><p>He was nestled sitting up against the headboard, a cool glass of water pressed into his slightly shaking hands. The sips he took were small despite the truth of his thirst, but the glass was persistently pushed back towards him upon every attempt to abandon it. He whined reluctantly, a petulant thing. </p><p>“I know, love. Thank you ever so much for doing this for me. You’re doing such a marvelous job. Such a good boy. Just a little more, please,” Aziraphale cooed, leaving Crowley absolutely no room to willingly disappoint him. </p><p>After what felt like an eternity, the glass was empty. Aziraphale let out a quiet laugh as Crowley wasted no time in collapsing down against the pillows (which had replenished in number, he spared a thought to notice). He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of his own breathing. A happy hum of acknowledgement vibrated low in his chest as Aziraphale took his hand, genty spreading lotion over the length of his arm before thoroughly massaging it in, soothing any place the ropes might have left the greatest impression and administering acupressure as he went. </p><p>It all made Crowley feel impossibly warm and cozy and loved. He truly had missed this after so long without it. He missed the intoxicating catharsis he was blessed with when falling apart at Aziraphale’s fingertips. He missed feeling so appreciated for trusting his partner enough to do so and forgetting what it was ever like to be used and thrown away. He missed the incredible validation and connection they achieved from this sort of play, or even the aftercare alone. </p><p>The facts of his life hadn’t changed. He’d still had no guardian to love and care for and protect him when he was young, but he had that now. Knowing such a pure trust, no matter how late it had come in his life… well, it took away so much of the sting that had plagued him for decades. It had never been about him being undeserving or broken. It had never been his fault.</p><p>Crowley realized after a time that while he certainly couldn’t complain over the vigilant care he’d received, something was off. Typically, he’d be wrapped up tightly in Aziraphale’s arms as quickly as possible. He would be flooded with praise. They would discuss the things they liked. They would make progress on whatever book they were reading at the time, or sometimes Aziraphale would simply hum softly to him as he stroked his hair. </p><p>It was silent now. Aziraphale had finished tending to his arms some time ago, and one of Crowley’s hands was firmly gripped in his lap, their fingers intertwined. </p><p>Crowley cocked his head and reluctantly cracked open eyelids that felt as if they weighed one hundred kilos to search out Aziraphale’s face in the darkness. The dim light shining from the ensuite was enough to show the calm contemplation of his expression. His eyes were heavy with love- of course they were. They always were. </p><p>There was a firm resolution there, as if Aziraphale was overcome with a new emotion. No- that wasn’t it. It was more like… something that had been there for a long time, strewn apart in different pieces, and Aziraphale had only just put them together. </p><p>Having been so recently sated, Crowley couldn’t be bothered to fall into childish nagging or anxious prodding, and so he simply offered a small smile and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. The smile he received in turn felt like staring into the sun, and Crowley would happily go blind looking at it. With a gentle, pleading tug of Aziraphale’s fingers, his partner obliged to the silent request and crawled under the covers beside him. </p><p>It took a couple attempts of cuddling up only to be readjusted for Crowley to realize Aziraphale was set on looking at his face. So, Crowley decided he’d take advantage of the situation and look back. It seemed a mutually pleasant arrangement.</p><p>They lay face to face, Aziraphale’s arm secured tightly around Crowley’s slim waist, fingers brushing up and down the knobs of his spine from over his sleepshirt. Crowley watched the wheels turn in his partner’s head, fingers brushing softly over his face. His thumb slid over Aziraphales lips. His fingertips trailed over his cheek. The pad of his middle finger slid over his brow bone. His index slid slowly down the smooth slope of his nose before tapping a final boop to the pointed tip, earning a sharp exhale of fond amusement from his partner. </p><p>There were several moments he nearly broke the silence, insisting they get food before the restaurants stopped delivering or speaking to life the bizarre spawn of his wild imagination, joking that he’d fucked Aziraphale speechless or perhaps simply asking to be clued in. Each time the compulsion struck, he took one look at the contemplation on Aziraphale’s face, and some odd voice in his head told him that it was important he be allowed to have this moment. </p><p>“I feel I’ve been a bit silly,” Aziraphale confessed at last, finally cuddling close to nestle their foreheads together. </p><p>Crowley smiled. </p><p>“You? <em> Noooo, </em>never!” </p><p>Azirapahale sucked his teeth and grinned, reaching to pinch Crowley’s arse and gaining a soft, sleepy snicker for his trouble. </p><p>A soft kiss was placed to the tip of Crowley’s nose, and the redhead smiled, blushing at the memory of the first time he’d done that. Their first date last October. It had been less than a year, and yet it felt like a lifetime. </p><p>“I love you.” </p><p>Crowley’s heart fluttered, he searched Aziraphale’s earnest eyes. </p><p>“I love you too, Aziraphale.” </p><p>“You take such impeccable care of me.” </p><p>The butterflies spread lower, filling up the entire cavern of Crowley’s abdomen, going into a frenzy at the sweet confessions. </p><p>“Your bedside manner isn’t too bad either, doctor,” he teased, knowing damned well that the quality of the care he received from his guardian needed no verbal review. He was protected, provided for, encouraged, respected, heard, and adored. </p><p>“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said, as if the point was to be contested, “You have such an enchantingly lovely heart. I’ve never seen anyone ask you to go the extra mile, and yet you go leagues out of your own kindness.” </p><p>“Hmm,” Crowley grinned, “‘kindness’, sure. Let’s go with that. This isn’t a very professional performance review, just so you know, but hey, I’ll take it.”</p><p>“No, no,” Aziraphale laughed, though it was a distracted thing, and he was quick to return to his painful earnestness, “What I mean to say is- is that you deserve more than on-call care. You so rarely ask for what you need, and while I’d say I’ve learned to deduce as much, I can hardly do so when I’m not there to see what’s happening around you for myself. I want to be there, for the good and the bad. I don’t want to miss it anymore, and I- I want you to be here, too.” </p><p>Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. He was unsure if it was anxiety or hope building up in his throat, stopping him from taking another breath. Perhaps it was both, an elated anticipation and the correlating fear that he was deeply wrong. </p><p>“Angel… what are you saying?” </p><p>Aziraphale searched his eyes, offering a smile that was slight but just as warm as the sunniest day Crowley had ever known. </p><p>“Anthony, my love, would you move in with me?” </p><p>The air was squeezed from Crowley’s chest. He looked at Aziraphale with bewildered amber eyes, and he saw so much that he’d never been brave enough to fathom. He saw countless mornings of waking up cuddled in his lover’s arms. He saw eating breakfast together every day, annoying Aziraphale with ridiculous trivia that had absolutely no truth to it. He saw long trips to the country, and hours of bickering over terrible antique furniture and hideous tartan bedspreads. He saw endlessly growing lists of films to be seen together and books read aloud. He saw the pursuit of endless opportunities for mischief and being lovingly punished for all of them. He saw game nights and dinner parties at the table with their merging friend groups. He saw journeys to and from work with a warm hand tightly gripping his upon every commute. He saw a life of being asked about his day every single night, and a reality where the honesty of his answer was actually wanted, where there was no time limit to be kept before interest was lost and irritation set in. </p><p>He saw family gatherings at which he was actually welcome, the possibility of being taken in, accepted, loved by a family after thirty-six years without one. He saw a lifetime of Fridays spent baking challah bread and taking Aziraphale to synagogue- and maybe, just maybe, going in beside him. He saw manic episodes with a solid, safe weight holding him down, keeping him from floating away and losing himself in that vast blue sky. He saw low-swings with an angel’s love and protection lifting him up, guiding him through the darkness like a shining beacon. He saw an end- to washing down the pain of heartbreaking work days with liquor, to having only house plants to talk to, to crying himself to sleep, to being so terribly alone. </p><p>Crowley didn’t realize he was in borderline hysterical tears until he was wrapped up tightly in Aziraphale’s arms, the only place in the world he belonged more than a hospital floor. Gentle kisses were rained down on his face. </p><p>“You’re sure? I’m not very easy to get to sod off,” he managed out through the tremor of his lungs and the hitch of his hiccups. </p><p>“Good,” Aziraphale whispered, pressing a soft, adoring kiss to Crowley’s lips, “I’m glad to hear it; I couldn’t bear to watch you go.” </p><p>He pulled back, and when Crowley looked into his angel’s eyes again, he saw it- the inevitability that he never dared to believe could be so blinding or so beautiful until this very moment.</p><p>He saw his future.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*cups hands around mouth* GAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY</p><p>(and I love it) Bet you didn't anticipate bottom!Az ;P Aziraphale is done letting Crowley lament over how he's "holding them back" or w/e nonsense. </p><p>Anyway I'm alive. Started the full time job I mentioned in the last chapter and hoo-eee, it was an ADJUSTMENT. It took me a few weeks to figure out how to work writing in on top of 40 hours a week of intense mental exertion! I think I've got it sorted, but until I really find my groove it'll likely be a couple weeks between chapters. </p><p>I missed you guys! It was SO nice of some of you to check up on me! ;o; If you're ever curious where I'm at with chapter progress, I post updates to my twitter ( @get_wrexed ) pretty regularly, and you're always welcome to hmu on Tumblr (getwrexed) </p><p>This chapter really got away from me, but tbh any time these two get tender I just go absolutely feral. I could honestly write 10k words of aftercare alone lol. I love them and I love the softness of their trust and connection. </p><p>No fic rec this week (I'm so sorry) because I haven't even had time to read the fics I'm subscribed to, but I'll try to have one for y'all with the next update!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: Depiction of a Manic episode, the mortifying ordeal of being known</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Over a week passed before moving day, and in all that time, Aziraphale had still failed to find an accurate term to describe it. </p><p>He didn’t find one, in the end, but if pressed to give an answer he would choose the word “surreal”. He was discovering, with increasing perplexity, that he was having a more difficult time finding his clothing every day, as he’d moved many of his things to make room for Crowley’s. Those things had then been moved several more times as Crowley spent hours on end ignoring him, channeling all his focus on a hyper-enthused mission of envisioning the final product. </p><p>This was the first time Aziraphale had encountered a manic episode from his partner, and it had been a jarring adjustment to experience the sudden powerlessness of the stern demeanors and sweet voices that had influenced Crowley like a rowboat in the middle of the ocean at his baseline or even his low-swings. The redhead was absolutely unstoppable, incessantly distracted by his own nonsensical, lightning-fast chattering. He was bursting with energy and determination and impossible to reason with once he was set on something. </p><p>Aziraphale might have noticed it come on, but much like his depressive episode- it took nearly a week to ramp up. At first it only seemed like Crowley was happy and confident, walking on air after their decision to move in together. Aziraphale could hardly fault him for that, and he felt much the same. It had been a refreshing change, when Crowley spent the night, that he stayed up with Aziraphale, keen on simply spending the time together. For once he woke up just as early, and they made their journey to the gym together with the redhead uncharacteristically beaming and expressing himself with a surprising amount of words and lack of groggy grunts. It was absolutely bizarre behavior from the sleep-loving serpent, but Aziraphale supposed a good mood did wonders. </p><p>His work performance, too, improved to an extent the doctor hadn’t imagined possible. At his baseline, Crowley was the most impeccable, organized, empathetic, intelligent, innovative, and fearless nurse Aziraphale had ever had the privilege of having at his side. In an upswing, however, he was unstoppable, doing the work of three nurses on his own with a razor sharp focus and an ability to multitask that could not possibly be matched. </p><p>Aziraphale’s realization that it was something more than a good mood took course over one night. After all, it had been difficult to ignore when he’d woken up to the front door closing at four AM, an empty bed, and an instant panic. He had clambered to the back door only to hear clattering from the kitchen. The sight he had found there was so strange he rather wondered if it was all some bizarre dream. </p><p>There stood Crowley in a long-sleeved shirt, pants, socks, and trainers, flushed with exercise as he panted to regain his breath. Beads of sweat were trickling down his face. There were earbuds nestled in each of his ears (Aziraphale still didn’t understand how headphones had gotten so small so quickly or how they no longer needed wires, and no amount of Crowley attempting to explain ‘bluetooth’ made it any more sensical). He was bouncing on his toes and mouthing along to whatever strange new music he was listening to as he furiously stirred a bowl of a mysterious, thick batter. </p><p>After failing to gain his attention three times over, Aziraphale gently touched his shoulder, and Crowley nearly leapt from his skin before setting down the batter and slumping against the counter, yanking out an earpiece and resting his hand over his heart. </p><p>“Fucking Satan, angel! Announce yourself!”</p><p>“I did,” Aziraphale mumbled groggily, feeling rather as if he’d gone through the looking glass.</p><p>“Oh,” Crowley said, easily appeased as he snatched a different bowl back up and went to the oven to begin a battle with the ancient knobs that Aziraphale himself had long since given up on winning. “Well then. What’re you up for?” </p><p>“I heard the door open- were you outside?”</p><p>“Awh, yeah, went on a bit of a run,” Crowley shrugged, opening a lower drawer with his foot and leaning to look into it for an appropriate pan. </p><p>“You- <em> what? </em>Why?!”</p><p>“Dunno. Nice night for it, suppose. Had some energy to kill.” </p><p>“In the middle of <em> baking- </em>at- at four in the morning? How long have you been up?”</p><p>“Couldn’t sleep,” Crowley shrugged again as if his course of action was the most rational in such an instance. </p><p>“And you’ve gone running as you are?” </p><p>“Er- yeah?” </p><p>“You realize you’re not wearing trousers?!” </p><p>Crowley paused in his frantic baking, looking down at himself and sounding a thoughtful grunt. </p><p>“Well, ‘scuse me for living,” he mumbled, gathering up batter on his finger and popping it in his mouth. Were Aziraphale not in a state of wild confusion and exhaustion he might have laughed at the disgusted expression and noise his partner made before marching back over to where a mess of ingredients lay, grunting again, and tossing the whole bowl in the sink before hopping onto the counter, “Used salt instead of sugar. You want some cocoa before you go back to sleep?”  </p><p>“I rather think I’m up for the day,” Aziraphale grumbled, scratching his head in bewilderment.</p><p>“Oh,” Crowley sounded thoughtfully before offering a cheerful grin, “How’s a shag before breakfast?” </p><p>In the following few days the absurdity had only ramped up, but apart from a bit of mild irritability (and the one instance of indecent exposure) it didn’t seem to be too much harm. Aziraphale took it in stride, pleased to see such a glow of happiness, confidence, and energy in Crowley. He <em> certainly </em>couldn’t complain about the spike in libido. A bit of oddity seemed a small price to pay. He was easy enough to distract, and Aziraphale quickly found he could keep him from destructive impulses by setting him to task on preparing for his move-in, sorting through things and packing up at his flat, or making the slightest insinuation of sexual interest. </p><p>(There was a worrying aspect in that vein, as Crowley seemed hellbent on bullying Aziraphale all at once to ‘bugger him already’, reverting back to thoughtless lies to succeed in his goal. Aziraphale would not be convinced.)</p><p>The night before the moving company was scheduled, the high-energy redhead had opted to return to his flat and wrap things up. </p><p>Which landed Aziraphale in a highly anticipatory, excited, and fussy state the next morning after he’d returned from his swim. There was time before the movers were scheduled to arrive, and he’d awoken rather early. He found himself too unfocused to read, but instead he made himself useful finishing what he liked to think of as Crowley’s home-coming project. It was rather out of his wheelhouse, but he couldn’t think of anything more worth the time and effort. </p><p>He had found, leading up to the date, that he very much wanted to do something nice for Crowley- some gesture that the bookshop flat was just as much his as it was Aziraphale’s. He wanted him to feel loved and welcomed. From what Aziraphale gathered, Crowley had never had a proper home; he’d simply made due with Beatrix and whatever accommodations he had at the time, and Aziraphale was hellbent on amending that. </p><p>By the time he had finished the preparations at last, he glanced at his mobile to check the time (not a habit he was keen on employing, but he was hardly going to do manual labor in a waistcoat and he certainly wouldn’t risk his grandfather’s pocket watch getting scratched or dinged) only to find it was well over an hour after the movers were to arrive. Most alarmingly of all, there were no texts or calls from Crowley. </p><p>An uncharacteristic phenomenon to say the least. Not only did Crowley text the moment he woke up whenever they were apart, but he’d messaged nearly nonstop until three thirty AM upon which the rambling came to an abrupt halt. Aziraphale dearly hoped it was an indicator that he’d finally gotten some sleep, but he had a nagging feeling that such a hope was foolishly optimistic. </p><p>He rang him immediately, heart beating rapidly in his chest, only soothing when he heard his partner’s obviously-strained-but-forcefully-laid-back voice answer, “Morning, angel.” </p><p>“Good morning, dear. It seems things are taking a bit longer than predicted?” he asked, minding not to sound accusatory. </p><p>“Right. Well. Seems like. They’re not coming today, I guess there was a- ehhh- a bit of a mix up,” he managed out, lying through his teeth. </p><p>Oh dear. That didn’t assuage Aziraphale’s worry at all. </p><p>“Oh? Should I ring them and set it to rights?” </p><p>“Naahhh, just a misunderstanding, don’t suppose it’ll be sorted by today. You know moving companies, long as there’s work they dun give a toss if it’s for the poor sod who booked ‘em,” Crowley struggled, artlessly segueing into a shoddy attempt at a distraction, “but we could do lunch, yeah? Sawr a new brunch place in Westminster that has ‘Aziraphale’ written all over it.” </p><p>Aziraphale quite imagined that someone as clever as Crowley might know that the same strategy could only be used so many times in a game before the opponent caught on. It appeared that in this instance, habit defeated logic. </p><p>“I should very much like to see you, dear boy,” Aziraphale vaguely responded. </p><p>“Right,” Crowley said warily, registering the formality quite clearly, “Good. Meet you there? Right off Piccadilly- Jermyn and Duke street.” </p><p>“Oh? Not driving, today?” </p><p>A series of nervous noises unique to Crowley sounded before he finally settled on, “Nah. Not today.” </p><p>“Are you quite well?” </p><p>“I’m fine!” he erupted in an irritated outburst, though the anxiety at the truth of it was transparent and alarming in equal measure. “Who the Hell are you, then? Head investigator Fell? imagine Scotland Yard might actually get shit done if they’d got your number!” </p><p>“Well, if you say it like that then I’m enormously convinced,” Aziraphale huffed, voice dripping with sarcasm. </p><p>A bit of a nervous grunt followed by an exhaled whine. </p><p>“Sorry. Just. Bit thrown off center, y’know, with the moving company. And the morning. And- you know how it is,” he stammered. Still, it was all a play at redirection, but at the very least the remorse was honest. </p><p>Aziraphale fell silent for a moment. Crowley knew quite well that Aziraphale wouldn’t strongarm him into an open, honest, emotionally vulnerable discussion at a restaurant. They would finish their meal and a moment later Crowley would ‘remember’ a critical previous engagement that he had to hurry along to get to. Playing along would ensure whatever anxiety had Crowley putting off the movers would only fester, growing bigger and darker and more dangerous in his mind until all logic or faith had been snuffed out entirely.</p><p>“Why don’t we meet at St. James? We can decide where to go from there.” </p><p>“Ah. Yeah. That’s-,” Crowley sounded another series of stammers before sighing, “Yeah. Right. ‘Course. Where?” </p><p>“That bench where we feed the ducks sometimes, perhaps? It’s a nice morning for it,” he said, and remembered quite distinctly that every question he asked was an opportunity for Crowley to slither out of it. He rushed out to correct the mistake, “Right then. Good. Thirty minutes, I’ll see you there, darling.” </p><p>Crowley was still stammering as he hung up the phone and sighed. </p><p>Whatever the source of the sudden insecurity, he didn’t have a good feeling about it. In fact he’d rather thought they were past all the secrecy- </p><p>But the episodes Crowley struggled with weren’t all so simple, and patience was of the utmost importance in light of it. After all, the only manic episode he’d seen- however short lived- had featured the most frightened and irrational thinking he’d ever seen, and cornering Crowley even on accident had only escalated the situation. </p><p>He hurried back inside, cursing himself for allowing such a short time to get prepared and travel to the park. Had he thought better of it he might have had time to walk, enjoying the beautiful day. Instead he was fumbling to get dressed, mumbling tetchy, outdated stand-ins for curses under his breath as he was pressed to find all his relocated clothing. It took longer than half an hour, and still his hair was wild as he hopped out of the shop and rushed to the Tube station.</p><p>By the time he arrived at the park it was nearly half past the allotted time he’d planned. Figuring he was rather late enough, he idled to peruse a coffee cart near the entrance. Crowley was unlikely to be upset at his tardiness, but in the very unlikely instance that he was, his favorite latte might encourage him to glaze over it. Aziraphale ordered a tea for himself and continued on toward their little spot, lazily drifting ducks its only occupants. </p><p>A nearby shout eased any guilt he felt over the matter, and he slowed his hurried stride, calmed for the first time all morning as he found his familiar, beloved redhead in a grassy clearing between the tall, willowy trees, playing football with a gaggle of children. He wasn’t very good; his motions were graceless and unpracticed, but he was rambling on with witty, animated sports announcer commentary that had the children stumbling with laughter, compensating for the clear (and very endearing) leg up they had on him in terms of skill. </p><p>At the moment he appeared free of any of the horrid, heavy anxiety that had shackled him only moments earlier. His bright smile and clever banter was indicative of the recent energy and happiness that had been so very enjoyable to witness. Those blasted sunglasses were in place, as always, and he was wearing that ridiculous, patched, spike-studded jacket that Aziraphale was keen on pretending to loathe. </p><p>It was only that it seemed a ridiculous thing for a forty year old man to wear, but then- so was the dark red shirt cropped just over his naval that featured some band Aziraphale had never heard of, or the impossibly tight black trousers clinging to the slender curves of his lower body. It didn’t seem important that he <em> shouldn’t </em>look fetching in the clothing. The matter was that he rather did, and Aziraphale rather loved looking. </p><p>So he sat on a nearby bench, having all the time in the world to spare for watching his beloved boy’s joy. It was a handful of minutes later before Crowley noticed him at last, giving a bashful grin and saying his goodbyes to the children and their parents before stuffing his hands in his pockets and sauntering over to Aziraphale with long strides and swaying hips. His breathing was a bit labored, and a handsome flush tinted his face from the exercise. </p><p>“There’s you, yeah?” he said with a grin, spilling onto the bench beside the doctor and leaning in for a kiss that was quite happily granted. </p><p>Aziraphale smiled and brushed his thumb over Crowley’s cheek, his heart warming as his darling leaned into his palm. “I am sorry to- to ‘break up the party’, so to speak.”</p><p>Crowley gave a fond snort and a roll of his eyes (the sunglasses were rather superfluous to hiding anything from Aziraphale nowadays). </p><p>“Don’t be. They’re a good enough lot, but I can’t imagine any company I wouldn’t trade easily for yours.” </p><p>“Barring Beatrix?” </p><p>Crowley grinned and swatted Aziraphale’s upper arm. </p><p>“Don’t be a bastard.” </p><p>“According to you, I can’t help it, and just as well- you <em> like </em>it.” </p><p>“Hmm. True enough,” he teased, draping himself over the back of the bench.</p><p>“Here. It’s warm enough outside, I suppose, but you do always run cold,” Aziraphale fussed, picking up the latte from beside him and holding it out. </p><p>Crowley’s face went soft at the small gesture, but as he reached out to grasp the takeaway cup, he faltered. </p><p>“It’s decaffeinated,” Aziraphale added on, and with a dopey, adorable smile, he was rewarded with a kiss and relieved of the cup. </p><p>“Don’t you know me so well,” the redhead hummed, peeling back the plastic lid and taking an eager sip. </p><p>“I like to think so,” Aziraphale said softly, admiring his beloved’s handsome profile with ease in the blessed rarity of a bright, sunny morning. He minded not to sound too pointed as he continued, “Well enough to know you wouldn’t put off the movers unless there were some rather nasty inner demons whispering in your ear.” </p><p>Crowley faltered at the apt analysis, lowering his cup to rest it on his knee and sinking down on himself only slightly. Somehow, he looked so much smaller after the change. </p><p>The sharp angles twisted into a cheeky expression.</p><p>“Full of demons, me, eh?” he quipped, and turned towards Aziraphale to tack on some artful lie. The doctor couldn’t help but allow his own features to betray his wounded feelings at the reaction before it was even delivered. </p><p>It was enough to cause Crowley to close his mouth, a faltering whimper slipping out of it instead at the immediate guilt. </p><p>“It’s just a month,” he said quietly, honestly, “S’not much longer in the grand scheme of things, is it?” </p><p>Aziraphale carefully scanned his eyes over Crowley’s anxious, pleading expression. Trying to be a hero, he noted, but for what cause, he did not know. </p><p>He proceeded with caution, noting the slowly ramping fidgeting of his restless partner. </p><p>“What will have changed in a month?” </p><p>A bit of a mangled, hesitant noise came before a quiet, relenting sigh of, “Nothing, I hope.” </p><p>Crowley looked away from him, shying away from being seen and known and understood. Afraid of something: anger or judgement or- knowing Crowley, perhaps afraid of compassion. </p><p>It twisted Aziraphale’s heart in knots. He couldn’t remember the last time Crowley had withdrawn so much or been so unwilling to communicate. With a bit of a kick in his own rear, he reminded himself pointedly that Crowley had been doing rather a vast amount of learning and growing in a very short amount of time, and overcoming mindsets that he’d protected himself with for years surely wasn’t so simple, no matter how very much effort he was putting in to achieve as much. Perhaps a bit of regression was to be expected. Perhaps he was going too fast, like always, worried that a break in momentum would have it all falling apart. </p><p>“I- I hope you know I won’t be angry if you’ve changed your mind on the matter. You were in rather a vulnerable place when I asked you, and I couldn’t fault you for deciding it’s not what you want,” he said carefully. </p><p>It was true- he wouldn’t fault Crowley. He wouldn’t be cross. He would, however, be a bit heartbroken (or perhaps much more than a bit). There was rather a thin line between strongarming Crowley into furthering their relationship and letting him run away from it- from him- entirely. Yet it was a line he was determined to balance on. </p><p>He was more in love than he’d ever been in his life. For however complex Crowley was, he was the most beautiful, loving soul, and he was more worthy of happiness than anyone Aziraphale had ever met. He made Aziraphale a better physician, a better friend, and a better man. It was becoming impossible to imagine a future without him- and perhaps Aziraphale was fooling himself to pretend that hadn’t been the case for quite some time now.</p><p>And because he loved him so very dearly, because he found him deserving of only the best things, he would let him go if it- if <em> he- </em>was not what Crowley wanted. But if he wanted to depart only out of fear of being undeserving or becoming a burden, Aziraphale wouldn’t let him go without a fair fight. </p><p>His fear was turned moot as Crowley erupted in a very rude, dramatic series of scoffs and snorts, each more absurd than the last. </p><p>“You daft fucking loon! Of course I <em> want </em>it! I don’t think there’s anything I’ve wanted more in my entire life!” </p><p>Aziraphale made a show of acting offended by the rude outburst, and the chance to huff, right his waistcoat, twist his hands in his lap, and look out at the pond allowed him to gather his thoughts and form a new hypothesis. </p><p>“I assume it would be too easy to be straightforward about your hesitation on the matter?” he asked haughtily. </p><p>“And I assume you wouldn’t let me leave it at ‘it’s for the best’?” Crowley asked, a dreadful doubt in his voice. </p><p>“Last I checked, you deferred that judgement to me,” Aziraphale tutted. </p><p>Crowley let out a boisterous groan of frustration, lunging to his feet and setting in on a harried pacing that only worked on Aziraphale’s nerves. He didn’t let on as much, of course. It was never more important to come across as calm than when Crowley was the furthest thing from it. </p><p>“When it’s about <em> me, </em>yes! But it’s not about me!” </p><p>Aziraphale looked at him blankly, a bitter taste growing in his mouth. </p><p>“Dear, I realize you only have so much control over your thoughts and feelings- and I don’t fault you for that. I don’t believe any person has a full mastery of either,” he began, “but I must confide that this is all bringing back rather unpleasant memories for me.” </p><p>That brought Crowley’s patrol to a halt, and he lodged a wary look at Aziraphale. </p><p>“What do you mean?” he asked with bated breath, the insecurity glaringly clear in his posture, his expression, the very aura emanating forth from him. </p><p>“I mean, you promised me you wouldn’t run again,” Aziraphale said, his voice wavering with emotion despite his best efforts. He cleared his throat, coming back with a much more firm, resolute clarity, “And I understand that impulse isn’t something you can control, but if you’re considering doing as much under the belief that it will somehow <em> spare </em>me, I most decidedly do not want or care for your heroism.”</p><p>“That’s- not- <em> Aziraphale,” </em>Crowley sighed at last, voice wrought with heartache. He returned to the bench, this time much more alert- sitting on his calf to gain height and hunched inward with his fingers clenching the bench over his partner's shoulder, shielding him in a way that twisted Aziraphale’s heart. He’d been so protective at the slightest sign of Aziraphale’s pain since the sordid meeting with Geller, a patrolling watchdog eager to bear his teeth at the slightest indication that someone might catch Aziraphale at his most vulnerable. </p><p>The redhead pulled off his glasses, those beautiful golden galaxies fixing hypnotizingly into stormy seas, and wound his fingers through Aziraphale’s. </p><p>“I’m not running, I wouldn’t ever- I <em> meant </em>what I said. Barring some traumatic head injury that changed your personality into some cruel psychopathic wanker’s, there is nothing that could make me leave this- nothing except,” he hesitated, his adam’s apple working up and down and his eyes flickering away with the furrow of his brow. Aziraphale sensed they’d hit the core of the issue. “Except you telling me it wasn’t what you wanted anymore.” </p><p>“I appreciate that,” Aziraphale said pointedly, “but I don’t know why you should imagine I’m not of precisely the same mind.” </p><p>Crowley’s face twisted with self-loathing for a moment, and he pulled away, his limpness a stark contrast to the spring-coiled tension he only just hosted. </p><p>“I’m having a manic episode, angel,” he admitted quietly, looking thoughtfully down at his glasses before moving to slide them back on. “And I can’t promise it’ll be sunshine and rainbows the whole way through.” </p><p>With a gentle touch, Aziraphale stopped him from rebuilding the barrier, keeping his gaze firmly locked on eyes that averted his own. </p><p>“I know,” he said, reminding his partner, “I have seen one before.” </p><p>Crowley shook his head, “no- no that was a mixed episode which is- well, it’s an entirely different fucking nightmare. This is- you don’t- look. Facts are, it’ll be new for you, and you don’t know what you’re in for.” </p><p>“That doesn’t change anything,” Aziraphale said firmly, “Just like your low swing didn’t change anything. You’re the same person, even if you behave differently- a person I promised to keep and care for. I’m going to be here for you through this.” </p><p>“I know you will, but it’s not just about <em> this time, </em> ” Crowley said, his voice impossible hoarse, “By the time it’s over you might never want to- to <em> be here </em> for it ever again, and it’s only going to keep happening- forever. I’ve spent a lifetime trying to learn to manage it, but it’s never going to be fixed or go away. Even if it’s all stable, even if I never stressed again, I’ll still have them. I mean- fuck, I reckon this one was triggered by the <em> excitement </em> of moving in with you. I can’t even be bloody <em> happy </em> in peace and- and if that was too much of a commitment or too much for you to witness or if you just realized that I’m- that I’m <em> too much </em> , I would understand. The last thing I want to do is- is <em> trap </em>you into a situation that you don’t have the full context of. I love you so much, angel. I only want your happiness.”</p><p>His voice was smaller than Aziraphale would ever care to hear it again as he tacked on a wavering, “Even if I’m not a part of it.” </p><p>Aziraphale felt the devastation crash down on him. </p><p>“You’re giving <em> me </em>a chance to run,” he realized.</p><p>Crowley cleared his throat, looking around at their surroundings in anxiety. He was hanging on by a thread. Aziraphale saw it.</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head, brows knotting, tears forming, voice louder than he meant for it to be, “I don’t want it!”</p><p>“But-” </p><p>“I’ve already made my decision, Crowley! Do you really think after all this time of caring for you, of taking on such a massive role in your life- one that the people who filled it before me have failed you in time and time again, one that you haven’t trusted anyone to take on since- that I would ever ask you to take this step with me without considering the effect it would have on you were it all to fall apart? I don’t put my heart at risk lightly, Anthony, but I don’t- <em> would never- </em> risk yours at all.” </p><p>Crowley closed his eyes, taking deep, wavering breaths as he trembled, rendered unable to speak. Aziraphale felt a sharp bite of remorse for losing his cool, calm composure. He was frustrated, it was true, but surely snapping at Crowley wouldn’t contribute to helping him feel safe and respected. </p><p>With a bit of his own deep breathing, he took Crowley’s hand tenderly in his own, and spoke in a soft, low voice. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you, I just- your feelings are ever so important to me, my dear. It can be frustrating, sometimes, not knowing how to chase the doubts away- sorting out how I can gain your trust and making it clear that there is nothing false about my deep desire to stay, keep you, and love you. So please, help me understand.”</p><p>Crowley ran a hand through his hair, its meticulous style ruined by now, and held his breath for a disconcertingly long moment before blowing it out and turning pained golden eyes on his partner.</p><p>“I’m not- I’m not doubting you, Aziraphale. I do trust you. I know that you’re so bloody patient and kind and- I’m just- I just want you to have a chance to see how fucking <em> much </em> it is. It’s fine now, it’s manageable- fuck, even fun sometimes, and there’s a chance that maybe it won’t escalate. But- but there’s also a chance that it <em> will </em> just like it usually <em> does </em>and I don’t know what I’ll do or how bad it will be or how it will affect me or you or- or us.”</p><p>Aziraphale shook his head reluctantly, “It can’t be that bad.” </p><p>Crowley scoffed, face twisting and grimacing bitterly at the ducks as if they had somehow lost his favor forever.</p><p>“You see? You can’t even- Look. If you think my impulse control at baseline is shit, then it only gets worse and- and I can’t <em> explain </em> why I do the things I do other than that some subconscious part of me realizes I <em> can </em>and I certainly won’t have the foresight to think about how it will affect you no matter how badly I wish I would. You could be called to the police station in the middle of the night because I walked through a store and left with my pockets full of shit I didn’t even want or need. Or the hospital after I endlessly taunt someone dangerous, unable to stop because the thrill is blinding. I might try some reckless, stupid stunt just because I’m so high on false confidence I take it as fact, or pop some mysterious drug just because someone holds it out to me. Some creepy git could say ‘come with me’ and I’ll go, ‘hell, alright’ without a second thought. For fuck’s sake, I can’t even drive because I’ll do bloody eighty in central London and run red lights because I know I shouldn’t. It’s like this ridiculous, primal part of my brain takes over and snuffs out all the forethought. </p><p>“And even if I manage to tamper the temptation, even without the erratic behavior, there’s the erratic emotions; I’ll get mad at you for no bloody reason. I’ll have bursts of the most ridiculous paranoia. The sleep deprivation will set in and the auditory hallucinations will start and I’ll- and- and the point is you’re going to look at me <em> differently </em> when this is over, Aziraphale. I couldnae handle that. I couldnae handle you resenting me and I <em> definitely </em> couldnae handle you looking at me like I'm mad! I’m going to be too much and the only thing that would stop me is mood stabilizers and I cannae- I can’t do that again, angel, I <em> can’t,” </em>he rambled, voice turning to a tight, wavering whimper, breath quickening, accent spiraling out and anxiety creeping in, weighing him down, suffocating him. </p><p>He was hunched over now, fingers laced into his hair and face hidden in his forearms. The length of his slender body wracked with shivering. Gazes from nearby pedestrians were lingering, but Aziraphale couldn’t care less for the strangers in light of his beloved boy’s pain.  Gently, he took Crowley by his arms, rearranging him into a tight embrace, his face tucked safely into Aziraphale’s neck as he trembled. Aziraphale rubbed his back and kissed his head before resting his cheek against it. He wrestled a hand out from between them, pressing that point of Crowley’s hands that always pushed him to <em> breathe </em>when he was on the brink of an attack like this. </p><p>His deepest instinct was to be heartbroken at the mistrust- but it wasn’t so simple. It was just as Crowley said- it wasn’t about mistrust or doubt. It wasn’t about inadequate love or affection. It wasn’t about a weak relationship or failing him as a guardian. </p><p>It was about being thrown out into the big, unforgiving world by the same person who had brought him into it and never receiving a reason why. It was about formative years spent with guardians who treated him as the bane of their existence for pain and illness that went on to be ignored or stigmatized. It was about a lifetime of being seen and abandoned time after time. It was about an anxiety disorder that made the fear so much bigger and an episode that made his paranoid thoughts race too fast to dispute a single one of them. It was about every single one of those events grooming him to believe that he was, and always would be, <em> too much.  </em></p><p>“I would <em> never </em>ask you to, Crowley. I know you’re afraid, but I’m not. And I daresay the biggest fault in all of this logic is that I would witness any one of these things and end the day thinking about myself.” </p><p>“That’s terrible,” Crowley argued in a choked voice, “that I’d put you through fuckin’ Hell and you’d burn alive without a complaint.” </p><p>“Anthony,” Aziraphale said gently, “When have I ever let you hurt me- even <em> try- </em> without a stern talking to shortly following?” </p><p>The question was met with a telling silence. </p><p>“I am not the victim of your struggles, my dear, and you are not the victim of mine. When we were nearly perfect strangers you saw me fall, and you picked me up. In that moment I saw everything I needed to know about the sort of person you are. I can’t stop you from falling, and you can’t stop me either. We can’t chase away the hurt or do the healing, but we can be there to help each other up again and to nurse the injuries. I don’t want to be in a relationship where the accumulating occurrences of needing support and compassion are framed in a light of building to our destruction instead of making us stronger. I don’t want a relationship where someone’s keeping score- do you?” </p><p>“‘Course not, but-” </p><p>“But nothing, dear. I don’t need you to be perfect, I simply need you to let me be there with you by your side. The very same way you are for me. Of course it brings me so much joy to see you happy and healthy, to watch you thrive and grow- and <em> oh, </em>I know it’s a different conversation entirely, but how very much you’ve grown, my darling boy. Three times today, you’ve put your best interest before my easy approval, and I couldn’t possibly be prouder- but back to the point. I don’t want your perfection. Especially not when I fell in love with you for wildness and loudness and rebelliousness- no. </p><p>“I simply want you to allow me to be there, to let me make sure you have the best life possible. Of course that means health and happiness when it can be achieved, but when it can’t, it means a shoulder to lean on and an ear lent during hardship. It means that if you must suffer, it shan’t be alone. That if you might be guided to light, you mustn’t be left in the dark and-,” he stopped, sounding an emotional laugh, “and I <em> know </em>I’ve said this all during your last episode, and I know you say this is different- but how can it be? The relevant facts are the same. The logic stands. I assure you: I have all I need to know.” he urged, hoping his words might get past that steel armor, that they might sink in and stop the spread of unfair, untrue, poisonous thoughts.</p><p>“I’m aware it all sounds so terribly romantic, but I promise I do see it very clearly. You would be fine in a life without me. The world would keep turning. You’d have your therapist, your hobbies, and your friends. You’d find happy moments and good people, and I’m sure I would do the same. But if I knew you and let you go, my darling, then not a day would pass that I wouldn’t look in a mirror and find a complete and utter fool staring back at me. I know you, and I know you think I’ll find you to be too much. But I believe you know me too, and you know I’m a hopeless hedonist; the words ‘too much’ are nothing more than a challenge to me. I see you, my darling Crowley, and I’m not afraid. I love you, and I want you.”</p><p>Their position was kept for some time, Crowley’s body shockingly still and his face buried in Aziraphale’s neck. The blonde did so deeply wish they might have done this somewhere more private, but their embrace was tight enough that if there were tearful, broken sobs, no one would be any wiser. Aziraphale certainly likened himself to be a bit too much of a gentleman to notice such a thing. </p><p>They remained tightly wound together, until the breathing slowed at last. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and it was his turn to learn forward as Crowley pulled away at last and took the cloth from him, safely guarded from view as he set himself to rights. Aziraphale’s hand remained firmly in place at the nape of his beloved’s neck, rubbing soothing circles into those spots that always helped him calm. </p><p>The sunglasses were put back in place, and with a sniffle and a deep breath, Crowley leaned back yet again, surveying their surroundings before turning and slapping a palm against Aziraphale’s chest with a dull thud. </p><p>“Ach! What was that for?!” </p><p>“Making me break down in public, you absolute arse!” Crowley snarked. </p><p>Aziraphale erupted into shameless laughter, only making himself the target of more roughhousing before easily snatching Crowley’s fingers in his own. Together they descended into snorts and snickers. He nosed against Crowley’s cheek, teasing, “We use our <em> words </em> darling, not our <em> hands.”  </em></p><p>“Oh I have plenty of words, kinky bastard,” Crowley snorted, a grin sneaking at his face no matter how hard he attempted to stifle it with a pout. </p><p>“Why kinky?!”</p><p>“‘Cause this is a bit voyeuristic, innit, when you get off on watching me cry?”</p><p>Aziraphale wouldn’t deny that. He did, indeed, fall victim to an arousal more powerful than any other he’d ever known when witnessing the unmatchable beauty and most earnest, awe-inspiring intensity of Crowley’s emotions. He’d never been foolish enough to <em> try </em>to insist otherwise, not when it had such a magnetic pull over him from the very beginning. </p><p>Though he found it hardly applied here, and so he plucked up his tea and took a casual sip, finding (true to form) it had gone cold from neglect. </p><p>“But I wasn’t ‘watching’ you, was I? And so the point is rather moot,” he hummed. </p><p>“You’re a bloody tosser, you are!” Crowley snorted. </p><p>“Hmm, perhaps we shouldn’t use words after all. Perhaps soap in our mouths would do just fine,” Aziraphale offered, laughing as Crowley pulled a face and sucked his teeth, clearly remembering the last time he’d suffered the punishment (though on that occasion, the awful words he’d used had been targeted towards himself). </p><p>“Perhaps, better yet, extraordinary amounts of alcohol?” he counter-offered with a hopeful expression. </p><p>“It’s noon, darling.” </p><p>“Ah good, a nooner, then.” </p><p>“And I’m the ‘kinky’ one? You’re insatiable, my dear.” </p><p>“Oy! You’re the one goin’ ‘round playing with me in the middle of the blessed park! ‘Sides, what happened to the whole ‘I take too much as a challenge’ business?” Crowley pondered with a salacious smirk and his brows raised in challenge. </p><p>“I didn’t say no,” Aziraphale challenged back, quite enjoying the grin he was so fond of growing toothy and flashing sharp canines. He faltered for only a moment as his thoughts progressed, and Crowley’s smile wilted anxiously in turn. </p><p>“Should… you like to go home, darling?” he asked, feeling the response- or rather, the destination- would answer his question best. After all, they’d never quite finished the conversation.</p><p>Crowley’s face went soft and love-struck, and with his arm draped lazily over the back of the bench, he brushed his fingers tenderly over the back of Aziraphale’s curls. The corner of his mouth turned up in a gentle curve. </p><p>“Let me put this to rest, angel. The bookshop’s felt like home to me for a long time now- more than any other place ever has. Maybe it’s sappy to say- but hell, you go in for the sappy shite- I think it’s been home to me since before we even got together.” </p><p>“When, then?” he asked a bit breathlessly. He couldn’t help it. Crowley was right; he did go in for the ‘sappy shite’ (or more accurately- the unabashed, painfully sweet sharing of those most precious feelings). </p><p>A lovely pink hue populated the flesh below that ever-changing galaxy of freckles, and for a moment, Aziraphale thought Crowley might hop up and drag him home (their home). Instead (and much to his delight) after a moment of contemplation, Crowley chose to trudge forth. </p><p>“The first time, I suppose. I had passed you as you were walking to shul in the middle of fucking armageddon like the mad tosser you are, and when I dropped you off later, you invited me in. It wasn’t right away, not really. I liked it, though. It was so cozy and so- you, really, even if it was my first time learning that. I suppose it was during Kiddush, or maybe right after, or maybe both,” he said in a quiet, impossibly tender voice. The wavering walls were falling away, his authentic underlying soul glowing like a beacon beyond them. His expression was far away, and he was lost in the memory. </p><p>“I just remember that when you first asked, I was so scared of doing something wrong or coming across as an ignorant wanker or- or- fuck, I dunno. But then we sat down and you started praying, and it was so… intimate, somehow, but simple, too, and you were so unafraid to let me be there and see it and be… be a part of it. I remember feeling… warm. Safe. And when it was over we- well. We ate. Talked. Nothing big really, but it felt revolutionary somehow, and I remember wonderin’ if that was maybe what it felt like to-,” he paused, lips closing slowly, eyes fixed on a little duckling waddling in its parent’s wake as he smiled, a rush of air escaping his nose, and shrugged a shoulder, “to eat with a family. It just grew as we kept on- with Shabbos, I mean. Every week. You just knew I’d come, and I did- before I had a clue that you loved me. I’ve never really felt that- that sense of belonging before, and that’s what Friday nights started to feel like: coming together or- nah. Coming home, more like.” </p><p>He blinked out of his trance, clearing his throat. The flush came back stronger as he realized he’d rambled, and he shrugged, scoffing at himself, “Stupid, innit?” </p><p>Aziraphale’s eyes were full of tears when Crowley turned to him, and he shook his head, trying and failing to speak time and time again before he resigned himself to a reverent silence.</p><p>How precious to him, this person. Even now, he was so tentative when breaching the topic of Aziraphale’s faith, as if he was afraid of invading- or as if being raised unaware of religion made him some sort of pariah, with no value in his opinion and no place in any religious community.</p><p>Aziraphale recalled a day several months ago in which they’d saved a patient together as physician and nurse. That night they’d gone down to the back room of the bookshop as friends and lovers, drinking far too much wine and sharing thoughts, big and small, philosophical and trivial, questions or assertions- the sort one only shares with their dearest, most trusted friends late into the early morning hours. At last, Crowley had let his guard down, and in his drunkenness he had forfeited or forgotten his anxieties of offending. He’d admitted that he wasn’t sure if there was a god, but that he liked to think there wasn’t. He said that if there were, they certainly didn’t like him very much, and he didn’t like to be left alone with those thoughts or what they meant. </p><p>Aziraphale may not have agreed, but he wholeheartedly understood. After the life Crowley had lived, he would never dare insist that there was a god who loved him dearly- no matter how faithfully he cherished the sentiment as truth.</p><p>But he was a devout believer, and a lifetime spent in a small, close-knit, marginalized community had taught him with a resounding impact that religion was far more than a belief in a god. </p><p>Hearing Crowley’s admission of finding his home through Sabbath moved him in a way he could not describe. Of course, Crowley had been an irreplaceable part of his Fridays for a year now, made a point of baking fresh challah each week, keeping his schedule free to take Aziraphale to synagogue, and most importantly- sitting down and welcoming Shabbos with him, eating beside him, keeping it with him. But knowing one of the most crucial aspects of his life had brought them together in Crowley’s heart, made a home and a family between them? How speechless it left him. How it filled his heart past the point of bursting. How absolutely transcendent and awe-inspiring, to share this special thing, and have his most beloved person understand and accept it. More than that- for it to give him a sense of <em> belonging.  </em></p><p>With an emotional swallow, his voice cooperated at last, albeit in a weak, wavering manner, “That’s not stupid, my darling boy. Far from it- it means more to me than I could possibly say.” </p><p>Crowley gave a soft smile, leaning in to kiss Aziraphale and sharing a laugh as he traded the handkerchief back to its owner. </p><p>“Well. Speaking of Shabbos, I still have to make the challah. So what do you say we go home, you shag me senseless, I’ll make some lunch, bake some bread, and call the movers to reschedule for next Friday?”</p><p>Aziraphale sounded a hesitant hum, a frown playing at the corner of his mouth, and Crowley rolled his eyes, jostling his angel’s knee with his own. </p><p>“I’m not wiggling out of it. Promise. I’m still moving today, it’s just my shite that’ll have to wait.”</p><p>The reassurance coaxed the tension to slip from Aziraphale’s shoulders. </p><p>“Then I say that sounds perfect,” Aziraphale said in a low, loving voice, tracing his thumb below his beloved’s jaw, “and that I have a surprise for you between the first and second activities on the itinerary.” </p><p>“A surprise?” Crowley perked up, eyebrows raising and a sharp grin crossing his face, “A good one or a bad one?” </p><p>“Don’t be silly, darling,” Aziraphale hummed, kissing Crowley’s forehead, “a good one. Of course.” </p><p>Crowley hopped to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking long, hopping strides backwards, “Then we best get a move on! C’mon, angel, hop to it- last one there washes up after lunch!”</p><p>“I’m not about to-,” Aziraphale scoffed, rolling his eyes only to look back and find Crowley halfway across the park. </p><p>“Crowley! Slow down, you little demon!” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>* * * * * </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Aaaaaauuuuhh new oven?” </p><p>“I would think you might have noticed.” </p><p>“A muscle relaxer prescription?”</p><p>“What? No!” Aziraphale scoffed, shaking his head as he fumbled with the keys to the bookshop front. </p><p>Not that it was a terrible concept, now that he thought about it. Perhaps it might get Crowley to sleep for the first time in nearly five days.</p><p>“A possum in a scarf?” </p><p>The blonde chuckled despite himself, turning the lock and entering to hold the door open for Crowley after. </p><p>“I believe you have that covered- though I <em> do </em>hope you’re not planning on bringing that wretched thing here.” </p><p>“Ey! Don’t be a wanker; Orpheus isn’ a bad flatmate- doesn’t make a mess, stays nice and quiet.”</p><p>“Hmm, bit too voyeuristic for me,” Aziraphale hummed, grinning as Crowley strode past and threw his head back to bark a laugh. </p><p>“Alright then- a shirt that covers my stomach?” </p><p>“I wouldn’t dare,” the doctor teased back as he shut the door and locked it. </p><p>“A cat?” </p><p>“No,” he answered, frowning as he helped peel Crowley’s jacket off and hung it on the coat rack, mumbling under his breath, “though that might have been a good idea.” </p><p>He started towards the stairs, endeared by the familiarity of Crowley faithfully trailing after, carrying on with his endless, carefree, curious pestering. He was quite sure he’d never find it to be anything short of adorable. </p><p>“A gag?” Crowley purred. </p><p>“What for? You’re rather reduced to noises anyhow, and I’d hate to muffle such a pretty sound,” he expressed earnestly, making the mistake of going up the stairs first and earning a loud whine and several swats to the backside as punishment for flustering his precious boy. After a bit of a struggle with plentiful laughter, cheeky reparte, and a bit more roughhousing than was strictly safe on a stairway, he managed to arrange Crowley folded over his shoulder, continuing up the stairs. </p><p>“Foolish, angel! I cannae be stopped!” Crowley challenged , delivering a pointed slap to Aziraphale’s arse yet again and getting a much sharper one to his own in turn. He shouted, giving a helpless squirm before grunting, “Ngk! Fine! I s’pose I’ll <em> let </em>you win this time.” </p><p>Aziraphale shook his head and grinned at the submission that came long after his partner had been rendered helpless. He felt Crowley prop his elbows against his back. </p><p>“Is it a heated blanket?” </p><p>“You already have one of those, dear.” </p><p>“Yeah but you can never have <em> too many </em>blankets.” </p><p>“Sure I can, it’s you that can’t,” Aziraphale pointed out, reaching the mezzanine and heading to the landing opposite the flat entrance. </p><p>“What? You telling me you don’t like our blanket heaps?” </p><p>“I’m not telling you that at all. I do like to keep you warm and cozy, darling,” Aziraphale allowed, keeping to himself the fact that he <em> didn’t </em>like roasting alive nearly as much. </p><p>“Hm. A flower box?” </p><p>“No,” Aziraphale replied, carefully setting Crowley on his feet and pressing an adoring, relentless smooch to his cheek that had his darling snorting and squirming, pretending he hated it despite the mile wide grin on his face. “But I’ll say that’s certainly the closest you’ve come in the past twenty minutes of guessing. After you.” </p><p>Crowley blinked blankly at the door, “Has this always been here?”</p><p>“Yes, dear.” </p><p>“Hm, I don’t believe you. This is the door to bloody Narnia, I reckon,” Crowley grinned, opening the door and walking into the small room, peering up the steep metal stairs. He looked back at Aziraphale with wide, curious, excited eyes, “Is that a roof hatch?” </p><p>“Go on,” Aziraphale encouraged, smiling as Crowley excitedly scrambled up the steps, fumbling with the latch before pushing the hatch open. With his own heart racing with anticipation at the reveal, Aziraphale followed after, finding Crowley standing, arms loose at his sides, motionless. </p><p>And he knew Crowley would like it- he <em> knew </em>that, yet his heart was in his throat, his stomach a tight knot. This hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting. In fact, he’d rather expected something more akin to a child on Christmas morning- but he’d only ever seen one in films, so perhaps his reference wasn’t quite sufficient. He circled to Crowley’s side, and his nerves only amplified as he found, for the first time since meeting him, that his partner’s expression was entirely unreadable. </p><p>He appeared frozen. </p><p>“Well,” Aziraphale cleared his throat, “I know it’s not finished yet, of course- it’s hardly a garden without plants, after all, but you have a better imagination than I do.” </p><p>Crowley didn’t reply. After several moments of anxious blue eyes darting between the blank freckled face and the rooftop garden, Aziraphale cleared his throat, “Shall we- take a turn? I can show you everything?” </p><p>A shallow nod. </p><p>“Right, well, I know the layout is a bit odd, what with the skylight, but- but I think there should be plenty of room for everything. We couldn’t possibly neglect your valiant plant rescue initiative, after all. And I shan’t pretend to think you won’t have plenty arranged in the flat, but the greenhouse should accommodate anything that the flat can’t manage.”</p><p>He ducked his head, worrying his hands in front of him as he walked to the greenhouse that extended a fair bit of the length of the rooftop on one side of the skylight, feeling Crowley follow behind him. The double doors were wide open, already prepared for this moment, and Aziraphale stood by them, allowing his partner to drift past and walk down the length of it, turning his head slowly in every direction. </p><p>“I did look into the one you were eyeing at the garden center, but I did some maths on the wind velocity at this height and researched the soundest materials to withstand against it and found this one was a bit more up to the task. It should keep your projects safe against even the worst of London weather,” he rambled, rushing onward at Crowley’s unforgiving silence, “And it’s bigger- of course. Three by six meters. There are ventilation panels along the roof on either side. I won’t pretend to know the benefits of such a thing, but I gather it’s appealing. You’ll like a heater for it in the winter, I might imagine, but no amount of research would make me confident enough to make that decision for you. And then- well, the metal shelves came with it, but if you’d like, we could certainly arrange something sturdier- work benches or garden boxes or- well, as I said, whatever you’d like best.” </p><p>Aziraphale idled by, fidgeting anxiously for at least another minute or so. </p><p>A loud clearing of his throat to regain the feigned confidence in his voice before he prompted, “On with the tour?” </p><p>Crowley turned toward him, eyes still pivoting about, much faster and more erratic than any motion his body betrayed. His face was paler than Aziraphale had ever seen it, and he was forced to remind himself that as Crowley’s guardian, he was a role model, and it simply wouldn’t do to let himself jump to wild conclusions when he lectured Crowley over doing the very same on a regular basis. </p><p>He turned, again having good faith that Crowley would follow. The long-limbed figure lingered a bit behind this time as Aziraphale guided him to the front of the rooftop, where three long, sturdy, wooden, raised garden beds were aligned.</p><p>“And here, well- I know you’ve mentioned before that you’ve always fancied the idea of having a proper vegetable garden. I imagine this should be a fair starting point.”</p><p>Crowley’s ricocheting eyes landed on him at last, his brow furrowed and a distraught expression on his face. Aziraphale’s heart leapt. </p><p>“There’s proper drainage, if that’s what you’re worried about- holes drilled at the bottom and a layer of gravel poured- well, as you see. I’m afraid I suffered rather a headache reading about all the sorts of soil and fertilizers, but of course I’ll help you carry whatever sort you choose up here- and there’s narrower beds just there, along the edge of the roof barrier.”</p><p>He gestured to it, the boxes lined up so neatly they appeared as a continuous bed lining the entire width of the front of the rooftop. </p><p>“Then there’s more to see over here, of course” he rushed on, rather wishing to distract himself from Crowley’s increasingly attentive, pressing gaze. </p><p>So he led to the other side of the skylight, where a wooden garden veranda lined the length of the building. There was a small gap in the backing about two thirds through, and wooden steps leading up to the edge of the empty space.</p><p>“The stairs aren’t an invitation for your antics, by the way,” he teased despite the stones in his stomach and the squeezing of his heart. Indeed, he would have to hide those when the presentation was over- he didn’t wish to tempt Crowley’s impulses. “I’m hoping to expand the fire escape so you might have better access, but I could hardly do so without you noticing- this bench here opens.”</p><p>He leaned down, grasping under one of the cushions of the long bench beneath the center of the awning and lifting it to show his partner, “But there’s the shed near the back end there, too. And the table near the front where I thought we might eat breakfast together when the weather is kind.”</p><p>He gestured again, this time to the elaborate, wrought iron little table featuring artful tilework on its surface, it’s matching iron chairs padded with soft, inviting cushions fastened atop their surfaces. </p><p>“And then I suppose the back where we came up is still something of a blank canvas. I thought it might be nice to find some garden furniture for it- I know how you like to stargaze, however rarely London skies allow it- but of course it’s all yours with which to do as you please.”</p><p>He turned resolutely back to Crowley, who was standing there, one hand on his hip, the other lodged in his hair, looking at Aziraphale as if he was the most cryptic, fearsome creature he’d ever seen. </p><p>Aziraphale was left yet again wondering if he’d terribly misjudged the whole ordeal, but he couldn’t have, could he? Crowley wanted to be loved, to belong, to be accepted and kept and cherished. He knew those facts better than any other. Had more confidence in them than in the science he used to save lives. Perhaps it was the secrecy that had upset Crowley. Perhaps he felt as if Aziraphale had glazed over his input, deciding it was unimportant. </p><p>He certainly seemed upset- anxious even, pacing back and forth now, sitting on the bench, looking about, standing up, walking again, making pitiful little whimpers amidst incomprehensible stammering throughout. </p><p>“Dear, I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said, feeling as if this was something he ought to put a stop to before it escalated further. </p><p>“You’re <em> sorry?!” </em> Crowley blurted back, sounding a hysterical laugh and burying his hands in his hair, “Oh would you sod off with that bollocks, you git! The Hell is wrong with you, yeah?! You built me a garden! A <em> garden </em>!” </p><p>His golden, mutated eyes were glossy with tears, his lips pulled into something that might have been an agonized grimace or a smile too big for his face. </p><p>“I…,” Aziraphale started, lodging Crowley with a wary look, “Can’t tell if you’re happy or upset.”</p><p>A bark of laughter, and Crowley rushed towards Aziraphale. The blonde stood, unflinching as Crowley took his face in his hands and kissed him with a passionate force, though his lips were trembling. He pulled away and sobbed through another laugh. </p><p>It was a smile, Aziraphale concluded, drowned out in an emotion much bigger than he’d bargained for, and like all of Crowley’s emotions, it was stunning. He stood, staring into his beloved boy’s face in awe, soaking in the blinding glow his heart managed to radiate through its many, many cracks and scars. </p><p>“Upset?! You mad bastard! How could I be upset?! You built me a garden! <em> You built me a garden!” </em>he repeated the mantra through hysterics, his entire form shaking fiercely with the energy of his powerful emotion. He laughed again, tears streaking down his face as he surged his fingers back into his own hair, gazing about the rooftop in awe before looking back to Aziraphale, eyes wide and wondrous and shining brighter than any starry night sky Aziraphale had ever seen. </p><p>“Why would you build me a bloody garden?!”</p><p>Aziraphale smiled, and though it had been but a few days since the start of this upswing, he was well aware that Crowley needed room to pace and gesture wildly and express himself. To embrace him or hold him as tightly as he wanted would be to suffocate him, to discourage the honesty of his self-expression. </p><p>Still, he didn’t need to hold him. His heart was full and so very, very warm. He didn’t need to have him in his arms to know that he was his. He didn’t need to whisper endless encouragements for Crowley to feel- to <em> know </em>that he was loved or wanted in this moment. </p><p>“My dear, I know what a big step this is for you- how you’ve never done this before- and neither have I. Not like this, but I know it’s not the same even still. This is a sacrifice for you, isn’t it? You’re leaving everything on the faith of our relationship. You’re leaving your gorgeous, state-of-the-art kitchen and your yoga studio, your own flat and the ease of hopping a few floors to see your dearest person and- and your ability to run and hide. I don’t take that for granted. In fact it means- Anthony, it means everything. It’s so crucial to me that you aren’t the slightest bit able to form wild ideations that you’re invading my home. I need you to know that this is your home too, even if it takes a while to feel like it. I don’t want you to be honest with me because there’s no other option. I don’t want to trap you with no escape in sight. I want you to have a space that’s yours and yours only, where you can run off to without fear of being boxed in, and if you should feel willing to invite me in, or to come and share with me- oh, my darling, that would mean so very much to me.” </p><p>Crowley looked around again, laughing and crying in equal measure, entranced and awed and filled with all the emotions Aziraphale so desperately wished to give him. </p><p>“Angel- <em> Aziraphale,” </em>he choked, and oh, his name had never sounded so beautiful, “I hope you know I don’t deserve-”</p><p>Against his urge to respect, to watch Crowley’s emotions from a distance, Aziraphale couldn’t help but press a thumb to those soft lips, heart stuttering as those molten gold eyes fell on him yet again. </p><p>“Above all, my dearest, sweetest- my <em> only </em> and most precious boy, I did this because you absolutely <em> do </em> deserve this- this and <em> so much more </em> . Because I’m not just bestowing pretty words when I say that you are so- <em> so </em> good. The best. You’ve suffered more than such a darling, selfless person should ever need to, and I know I can’t cut away all pain for eternity, but- but <em> oh, </em>I should do my damndest where it may ever be in my power. I’m so very proud of you, Anthony.”</p><p>Crowley disintegrated into sobs- or laughter- or perhaps both, Aziraphale couldn’t quite tell, and tipped his forehead against Aziraphale’s. He clung to the back of his jacket, and the alleged angel took it as an invitation, his body snapping to Crowley’s like a magnet as he at last took him tight into his hold and rained unrelenting kisses down on his face, whispering sweet coos of, “Oh, my darling, my most beloved.” </p><p>Perhaps he was spoiling Crowley, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. He may not have been on board with <em> enabling </em>him, with taking any bratty behavior or endorsing dangerous, selfish acts- but spoiling him? It satiated his hedonistic desires more than gourmet food, fine wine, rare books, or rough sex could ever hope to. It was something he desired and Crowley deserved in equal measure. A perfect arrangement.</p><p>They shared a passionate (albeit wet and salty) kiss before Crowley tucked himself against his caretaker, hiding in his neck and clinging to him, his slender waist made impossibly smaller in Aziraphale’s arms by how tightly their chests were pressed together. </p><p>After a long, indulgent time, he pulled away, rubbing his reddened eyes with fists and pacing yet again. This time, Aziraphale understood the restlessness was born of an overwhelming excitement. </p><p>“So you like it?” he asked gently, his heart pushed and pulled soothingly in the tide of his adoration. </p><p>“Like it?” Crowley scoffed, pushing his hair back yet again, the red strands sticking comically in all directions, “It’s fucking fantastic! Angel, even Adam and Eve didn’t ‘ave digs half as smashin’ as this!!!” </p><p>He turned in a bewildered circle before his frantic eyes turned back on his partner.</p><p>“Is that- still a thing in Judaism? Adam and Eve?”</p><p>“Yes,” Aziraphale said, a sly grin at his mouth as he desperately withheld laughter at his partner’s endearing ignorance, “and even so, I should think I might understand the reference.”</p><p>“Is that- fucking- <em> wh- </em>- is that the table from Colmar?!” Crowley asked in disbelief as he rushed over to the small dining area Aziraphale had pointed out earlier.</p><p>Aziraphale smiled, his heart warmed that his partner understood the reference- of course he had. By now, he was well aware that no matter how aloof and distant Crowley acted, he was always, <em> always </em>paying attention. Indeed, it had been inspired by that one morning they had made coffee and tea (respectively) and sat on the small courtyard of their rental unit, watching the clouds drift by and the snow swirl down around them. </p><p>“Not quite, but I’m sure you recall the antiquarian auction I went to in York a couple months ago. There were plentiful booths of all manner. I stumbled past this and- well, I thought of Colmar as well. I didn’t know at the time what I might use it for, but I purchased it on an impulse anyway. I find that anything that reminds me of you is more than worthy of keeping around.” </p><p>Crowley sounded another emotional laugh, spilling his long limbs into one of the wrought iron chairs and running his fingertips over the artfully aligned tile of the tabletop. He shook his head, gold eyes turning back to cloudy blue.</p><p>“How long- this is- I don’t- <em> when?” </em>he stammered, and still, Aziraphale understood the question.</p><p>“Oh, I’m not sure. I had the idea some time ago. I suppose before I even came to terms with the realization, I was no fool. I knew I wanted you here as often as possible- no, that’s not right- I knew I wanted you to <em> wish </em>to be here as often as possible. You always talked about how you dreamed of a proper garden. A greenhouse, if you could manage it, and- and so I suppose I started collecting things over time,” he admitted, twisting the ring on his little finger as he strolled to Crowley, sitting opposite him and smiling at that lovely face that was tired and tightly-wound in equal measure. </p><p>“That’s not to say I was wise enough to put in all the labor when it was prudent. After I asked you and we made plans for a mere week later, I was quite overwhelmed at my foolishness. I was determined to finish it all before moving day. You spent Saturday night at Beatrix’s, and Gabriel came here to help me for the remainder of the weekend.”</p><p>Crowley reeled back so intensely at the suggestion that Aziraphale couldn’t contain an indulgent laugh.</p><p>“He- wha- Winger?! You takin’ the piss?” Crowley accused disbelievingly.</p><p>“Not at all,” Aziraphale responded fondly, and he wasn’t. Though he <em> was </em>choosing to keep his tactics of convincing Gabriel to himself.</p><p>(They were perfectly respectable tactics, of course. He’d only pointed out that there certainly couldn’t be a <em> downside </em>to Beatrix discovering that Gabriel had volunteered a weekend of unpaid manual labor devoted to their best friend’s happiness out of the ‘kindness of his heart’.)</p><p>“The two of us didn’t do it alone, of course. By Sunday morning we accepted that we had been fools to think we had the manpower and know-how between us to finish it all, and so we recruited help. I consulted Faust, and it seems Carmine has some experience with carpentry. She was more than happy to lend expertise for the bench, and Faust came with her to help. We recruited Adam and Warlock’s assistance early on, too, and with some distant guidance we all were rather expedient at finishing the garden beds and assembling the greenhouse. Word traveled and soon Anathema and Newt had come also, and with plenty of patience, take out, and later on, torches and lamps- which reminds me, we really ought to arrange to have proper lighting installed out here, I won’t have you tripping and breaking your neck- we managed to arrange the awning and apply the finishing touches.” </p><p>If Crowley had been emotional before, he was a wreck now. </p><p>“They all- why would-?” </p><p>“You’re widely beloved, my dear- or so it would seem. I am most certainly backed by staggering reinforcements in the desire to ensure your happiness. Well, that, and in the case of Adam and Warlock, it seems that young adults are quite swayed at the concept of a free lunch.”</p><p>Crowley laughed again, “True, that.” </p><p>They clasped hands tightly over the tiled tabletop, each holding on with a clawing grip until the emotion shifted into a mutual, profound peace, the rare sort in which two souls share a rare moment of appreciation for their luck, their love, for the the good they’d managed to carve away together in a mad, mean world.</p><p>Much like that lovely time in Colmar, over four months prior. Their unrelenting magnetism pulled them together, and Crowley sat on Aziraphale’s lap, cradled adoringly in his arms as they soaked in the rare beauty of the day together. It was a moment that would last only a matter of minutes, but it would be remembered for a lifetime.</p><p>The breeze was gentle. The sun was warm and bright. The clouds were lazy and soft. Somewhere nearby, a nightingale sang. </p><p>At last, Crowley took a breath, and if all the love and reverence of the world could be captured, it was reflected in the red-rimmed, hopeless eyes he lodged at Aziraphale. </p><p>“Lunch then?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale grinned, squeezing Crowley tight and drowning him with his gaze of unrelenting devotion.</p><p>He sounded a thoughtful hum, eyes raking hungrily over his partner. </p><p>“Have you forgotten, darling?” Aziraphale asked, reveling in the confusion on his partner’s face and snuggling him a bit closer. His fingers slipped (or given the tightness of Crowley’s trousers, <em> squeezed) </em>their way under his waistband, giving a yoga-toned arsecheek a pointed, indulgent squeeze, “There was mention of a nooner- and as marvelous as your cooking is, I’ve something a bit more scrummy in mind to feast on.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I LIVE!!!!</p><p>Boy howdy, so much in these last couple months x_x Writer's block (this chapter changed vision at least three times while writing it), tough holidays, and getting Corona are the culprits of this very late update. Thanks to those of you who reached out~ you're so sweet!</p><p>Now for some important disclaimers:<br/>1) The manic episode depicted here (and the list Crowley gave of possible events that could occur during it) was based on a combination of personal experience and consideration for Crowley's other psychological conditions, experiences, and traits. Illness doesn't exist in a vacuum- behaviors and their catalysts come from many places and can produce many different reactions. Furthermore, no two people have identical experiences with mental illness because no two people are identical, point blank.<br/>2) I know Brits don't say 'nooner' (according to our lord and savior Google Search), but god it fit so well lmao </p><p>I hope you guys liked this one! There was a short scene I was hoping to tag this chapter with, but I feel it'll blend pretty well with the next post. I'm happy to say that at least for a couple chapters, things won't be so dang heavy!!! But at the very least, I think Crowley might be starting to get the message 🤔 </p><p>As far as fic recs go, here's a crack fic that I went and fell in love with- The Trouble With Being A Demon by VerdantVulpus.<br/>TV!Crowley gets kidnapped by Book!Crowley into the book universe, with Aziraphale soon to follow, and the TV!boys learn how to love each other with the guidance of Book!boys, who have several millennia of practice. Lots of smut scenarios that will make you raise a brow and eagerly read on at the same time. Definitely check out the tags before diving in, but I'd also advise against judging this book by its cover. The characters are deep and complex, the relationships are layered and real, the writing is very good, and the story just has so much heart. Also, for those of you who are here for the power play, this fic has a surprising amount of insight into Dom/sub dynamics, the delicateness of establishing and maintaining them, and all the emotions that go with it.<br/>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26721178/chapters/65186278</p><p>My life is pretty hectic, but now that I'm over the big fat writer's block this chapter challenged me with, I hope to have updates out a little more quickly!!</p>
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